Who Dares Wins
by OlegGunnarsson
Summary: A Harry Potter who grew up studying military tactics and strategy uses the attack on the Ministry as an opportunity to lay an ambush of his own - only to learn that his parents are still alive, as well as a twin brother whom Dumbledore calls the true boy-who-lived. And then, things get complicated. Military!Harry. A subversion of DZ2's Prodigal Son Challenge.
1. The Battle of the Ministry

Harry Potter had known that the rescue mission was a likely trap. Sirius Black had not been seen in the public sphere for months, at that point, and so no one would know that he had cut his black hair into a short, almost muggle style. His godson had suggested the change, arguing that it was one less thing to worry about in a fight. The fact that Harry Potter kept his hair in the same short style merely hammered the argument home.

So when Harry began to see visions of his long-haired godfather being tortured, he knew what Voldemort was trying to accomplish - Sirius was to be the lure that drew the boy-who-lived into the Ministry.

 _If there are death eaters at the Ministry,_ reasoned Harry, _then that's where I need to be._ With Madam Umbridge's rather abrupt resignation at knifepoint earlier that evening, the list of Harry's enemies in the castle was a small one. It was time for his focus to shift.

He was in his dorm room, putting on his dragonhide boots and checking the rest of his kit, when Ron and Neville found him. To his surprise, they were already wearing their basilisk-skin coats. Harry looked up at them, and they looked back at him - and in that moment, Harry had known that those two boys…. No, those two _men_ , would never let him walk into the line of fire alone.

Harry stood, and Neville checked him over. Holly wand at his wrist, Cherry wand on his thigh. Throwing knives, Combat knife, baton, expanded bag, first aid kit, potions, darkness powder. Harry was even carrying a bottle of the phosphorus-based potion that Hermione had called a 'Pocket _Lumos,_ ' and which functioned much like a muggle flashbang grenade when thrown. With a nod, Neville pronounced him ready.

The three strode into the common room, and found Hermione and Ginny waiting for them. Each wore the basilisk-skin coats that Harry had had made for them, matching those worn by the boys. Only Ginny had not objected at the time; she figured (correctly) that she was owed part of that basilisk, seeing how it was part of the darkest year of her life.

Harry checked the girls over, just as Neville had looked over his kit. They were probably more prepared than he was, but you never went into combat without checking your gear - and none of them had any notion that this trip would not involve combat. But this is what they had trained for, this small group. Today was where all those long hours of work in the Room of Requirement and the Forbidden Forest would pay off.

Today, Harry Potter went to war.

oOoOoOoOo

The quickest way to the Ministry would be via Floo. None of the six could apparate, just yet, though Harry had been practicing in secret. Voldemort's plan was based on angering Harry enough to drive him into making a mistake and charging into the ministry headlong - and he might have done just that, if time was of the essence and Sirius was truly at risk.

But that wasn't the case. Sirius was safe. So, the trip to London was made on the backs of thestrals, provided through the grace of Miss Luna Lovegood, who flew in the lead. Their entrance to the ministry would be through the front door - the last place they were expected.

As they flew, Harry thought back to that summer, so long ago, when everything had changed. Oh, his training had not begun in earnest until last summer, to be certain - Colonel Ramsay would not have allowed it. No, Harry thought about the summer of his ninth year, when he met the Colonel for the first time.

" _You're a little small to be cutting my grass, lad, aren't you?"_

 _Harry looked up from the mower, surprised to see the owner of the house. The man was wearing some sort of green overalls, with the pants tucked into big black boots. On one shoulder, the man was carrying what had to be a very heavy bag, probably big enough to fit Harry._

" _Um, sir, I was supposed to cut the grass while you were on vacation." The boy seemed to shrink into himself, as if expecting to be admonished roughly. Ramsay had seen the look before, and his eyes narrowed at the implications._

" _As I recall," Ramsay said, trying to sound as kind and calm as he could. "I had asked the Polkiss boy to cut the grass."_

 _Harry nodded. "You did. But Niall made his little brother Piers do it, and Piers made my cousin Dudley do it because he lost a bet, and Vernon made me do it for Dudley."_

" _Who's Vernon?"_

" _My uncle." The boy's quiet response told Ramsay all that he needed to know._

" _Ah," was his reply. "Well, since you're doing the work, you get the reward." He made a show of inspecting the front yard, as if he were reviewing new recruits. Harry's eyes grew wide when the Colonel's knife appeared in his hand, causing Ramsay to chuckle. "Best to do the thing properly," he said, as he used the knife to pretend to measure the length of the grass. He nodded, standing up, and noticed that Harry seemed to relax a little at that._

" _Very well done, lad. You've passed inspection, and as a reward, you get some lemonade and a sit down." Hefting his bag onto his shoulder, Ramsay started walking to the back gate. Pausing, he turned around, looking at a very confused boy. "Coming?"_

Colonel Ramsay's house was his escape, that summer, for it was far enough away from Durzkaban to be a safe haven from Dudley and his mates, but close enough to make the walk to and from an easy one. Ramsay had graciously told Vernon that Harry needed some of "Her Majesty's Discipline," and that some intensive yard work would not go amiss. Vernon knew that the Colonel still worked in the Army's training command, and that he still had the voice of a drill instructor.

 _The boy could use the discipline,_ his dear uncle had said. _Don't spare the rod, you hear?_

The Colonel had nodded at that. Harry learned later that the nod was precisely calculated to show proper respect to a civilian while simultaneously signaling how utterly unworthy of respect this particular civilian actually was. It was a level of nuance that Harry could appreciate.

What had started out as the Colonel wanting to help one of the neighborhood boys quickly became a long-term project. Summer saw Harry learning how to exercise, and - more importantly - why. When Ramsay learned about Harry Hunting, he got very quiet, and then began referring to Dudley and his friends as "OPFOR", or opposing force. He made Harry think about ways to escape, routes to prepare, tactics to delay the slower, heavier pursuers. He told Harry that the side that prepares better will win, ninety nine times out of a hundred.

Harry liked those odds. He soaked up the lessons like a sponge.

As the weather cooled, Harry found himself stopping by Colonel Ramsay's house in the evenings to go over his homework. It was the lessons after homework was done that Harry would remember most, during that long thestral flight.

" _Pretend to be weak," said Colonel Ramsay, reading from the small book on the table. "So that your enemy grows arrogant. If he is relaxed, give him no rest. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where you are not expected." Ramsay tapped the book. "Do you know what all this means, Harry?"_

 _The boy nodded. "The winner is the one who does what their enemy doesn't expect, and does it before their enemy can respond?"_

 _The Colonel smiled. "Are you asking me or telling me?"_

 _That got a grin from Harry as well. Never did the drill instructor voice come out between them - Ramsay was more of a professor than a drill sergeant, even when they exercised. Harry had come to know the Colonel as a student of warfare and strategy, almost more than he was a teacher of it - one of his favorite sayings was that there was always more to learn. The man's job as an occasional instructor for the Academy at Sandhurst proved that, for he spent just as much time in the Academy's library as he did in its classrooms._

" _Telling you, sir," Harry said confidently._

 _Ramsay nodded. "Good. You'll find that most battles are won before most of the people involved even realize that there was a battle. All because one smart fellow was more prepared than the other guy." He closed the book, sliding it across the table to Harry. "Your job is to be the smart fellow, rather than the other guy._

 _Harry ran his hand across the title of the leather-bound book. "The Art of War," he said._

oOoOoOoOo

Entering the Ministry was trivial, once they arrived in London. Hermione had elbowed Harry in the ribs - hard - when he gave their reason for entry as "Extrajudicial counter-terrorism exercise."

Luna, meanwhile, had simply laughed her airy laugh. Anyone who mistook her for a weak link on the team needed only look at the throwing knives on her belt, or the potion bottles ready to be thrown, or the determined look in her eye. She had trained as hard, if not harder, than any of the six. She knew exactly how many times Lucius Malfoy had threatened her father's magazine. She knew exactly how many 'gas main explosions' there had been since the breakout at Azkaban in December.

When Arthur Weasley had been attacked in the Ministry, it had been Luna who calmed Harry down afterwards. It had been Luna and Hermione who took his anger at the blatant attack and tried to channel it into something productive.

The idea to start their own miniature DA, just the six of them, focusing on small unit tactics against death eaters? That was Ron, who wanted to make sure he would be prepared, if and when. Ginny had agreed, saying nothing - but her hard eyes were focused on Harry, who had lost himself in thought at that point.

 _Neville had broken the silence. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows." Harry looked up at his friend, before looking across the faces of the others._

" _If we do this, we do it all the way." They nodded. "We train like the muggles do, we fight like the muggles do." They nodded. "No quarter."_

 _Each of them nodded._

" _Good." said Harry. Behind him, the Room of Requirement had created a row of wooden targets, and a table covered with small pieces of metal. Harry grinned as he picked one up - it was a perfectly balanced, gleaming surgical steel throwing knife. "Alright, let's start with these." Turning, he threw the knife downrange._

 _The five watched with awe as the knife buried itself in the throat of the target._

In the atrium of the Ministry, they found four death eaters waiting at the floo points, their eyes fixed on the flames. They were probably there in case some innocent worker stumbled into the office that evening, for if Harry had planned to floo in he would have done so by now.

Four well placed stunners sent the death eaters to the floor. Neville collected the wands and incinerated them, while Hermione and Ginny tied the death eaters up with a variant of the _Incarcerous_. Instead of ropes, the spell used razor wire - before disillusioning the bindings. The idea was to prevent the downed wizards from being freed, or - failing that - keep the rescuers busy long enough to take them down as well.

And if they struggled and cut their wrists and ankles? "Welp," Harry had said, with a shrug. He would not cut the throats of fallen enemies, however richly they deserved it, but nor would he see to their comfort.

To the group's surprise, there were no other death eaters in evidence - none hiding under cloaks or in shadows, none of the marked employees they knew _had_ to have infiltrated the Ministry by now, no one.

Down to Level 9 they went.

oOoOoOoOo

 _When Harry returned to Privet Drive after his third year at Hogwarts, he visited Colonel Ramsay the next day. To his surprise, he found his mentor reading a copy of Hogwarts, a History._

" _A man from Downing Street came by last week," Ramsay began. "He mentioned that I was being read into some sensitive projects above Top Secret."_

" _Oh?" asked Harry, sitting down across from the Colonel._

" _Oh, indeed. It seems I had inadvertently befriended a wizard, and not just any wizard, mind, but one who had some importance to Her Majesty's government." He smiled at Harry. "Funny thing, isn't it?"_

 _Harry looked uncomfortable. "Sir, normally I'm forbidden from telling anyone about…"_

 _Ramsay stopped him. "Oh, they told me. No worries there." He leaned forward, extending a hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet the real you, Mister Potter." Harry grinned as they shook hands._

 _Over the course of that summer, Harry told his story. His parents, their deaths, his relatives, his school. He spoke of his friends, his classes, his teachers._

 _He was surprised when Ramsay prompted him to speak about Quirrelmort. About the basilisk. The Dementors. His godfather._

 _The conversation turned to a more narrow focus. His wants, his goals, his objectives. Ramsay only grew annoyed once, when Harry said that his highest goal at the moment was to survive his fourth year._

" _No army who fought just to survive ever won anything. You need to do more than survive, you need to live, perhaps even to love."_

 _Harry had grown melancholy at that point. "The only time I really remember being loved was before my parents died. Voldemort took that from me. He took everything from me."_

" _That he did," agreed Ramsay. "But look, now you have a godfather on your side, you have friends, you have allies. You're not alone, Harry."_

" _I know," he said, smiling a bit at the thought of his friends. "But it's taken a very long time to get to this point. If I lost them, I don't know what I'd do."_

 _Ramsay stood up to refill their tea. "I do." Harry looked up, and met the Colonel's eyes. "You'd force yourself to keep going. To do what needed doing."_

" _Would I?" asked Harry, unsure._

 _Ramsay nodded, holding Harry's gaze. "The guard dies, but never surrenders." Off harry's questioning look, Ramsay continued. "Harry, you are one of the most determined people I have ever known, and I've been training soldiers for close to thirty years, everyone from Generals down to Privates. If you are fighting for what you believe in, for the people you love, then no force in the world could stop you." Ramsay's voice grew quiet, as he spoke the words that Harry would never forget._

" _They could never defeat you, not ever. All they could hope to do is kill you."_

oOoOoOoOo

The Hall of Prophecies was far more vast than they had expected. Even with Luna's accounts of the hall from her father, who had learned of it from her late mother, they were unprepared for the sheer scope of the place.

It was Hermione who detected the ward across the doorway. It was Ginny who bypassed it. Just the presence of that ward alone proved that this was a trap, that death eaters were laying in wait somewhere nearby. Removing their early warning might buy a few minutes, or so they hoped.

The correct prophecy was easily found. The tag listed the seer, their audience, and the subjects of the prophecy. Harry saw that the question mark was crossed off, with red ink showing the true subjects of the prophecy.

 **S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. in re Dark Lord and James Potter and Harry Potter**

Harry looked at the tag, considering what it might mean. _Why would my father be listed? Why not my mother as well?_ Quickly, Harry took the orb off the shelf and placed it in his pouch.

"Incoming," said Neville, from his place near the intersection of that row and the next. Hermione's wards were good, and all six of them had trained to detect the subtle magic that came just before apparition. As Harry readied his wand, he saw another orb with 'Potter' on the tag. Without pausing, he grabbed that prophecy as well, tag and all.

A masked death eater appeared on his left, almost exactly where Harry's _Reducto_ struck a second later. Two more death eaters met their deaths that way, as Harry's team took advantage of that split second disorientation on arrival. This enraged the remaining death eaters, which was part of why they had done it in the first place. These wizards expected six weak students, and instead found death.

Harry could hear Lucius Malfoy's voice trying to take control of the battle - a battle that he had not been expecting. _Why give your enemy time to prepare?_ Harry could hear the Colonel's voice in his head.

Spells began to strike the shelves, sending shards of glass every which way. The six began making their way to the rear exit, covering each other with spellfire. One brave death eater tried to cut them off, and wound up with a knife in his throat. The mask fell away as the body crumpled to the floor, revealing Augustus Rookwood - an unspeakable.

 _That explains the wards,_ thought Harry. He and Neville were the last two at the doorway, the others having gone through already. With a grin, Neville pulled out the _Lumos_ potion. Harry matched his move, and on the count of three they lobbed the potions at the approaching death eaters.

The flash of light that came under the door would have been blinding, had they waited for it.

oOoOoOoOo

" _The Death Eaters operate on fear," the Colonel had said, probably for the fiftieth time. "In 1978, a dozen of them walked down Diagon Alley and destroyed three shopfronts, killing two and injuring seven."_

 _Ramsay and Harry were looking over reports from the Ministry about the first war. What little information the Muggle government had was in the form of reports like this one taken by inside agents, or derived from the Prophet. To an experienced soldier, though, they were a goldmine._

" _There were over three hundred people in the Alley that day," he continued. "I assume most of them were carrying wands?" Harry nodded, that was likely. "Alright, so answer me this - twelve people versus three hundred, who wins?"_

 _Harry considered that. "The three hundred are civilians," he said._

" _True," replied the Colonel. "All of whom can disintegrate a man's head with a word."_

 _Harry had to concede the point. "Then I would say that the side more prepared to do what is necessary would win."_

" _Correct." Ramsay pointed to the report. "If even half of those people had stood up and fought, the twelve would have withdrawn at best, died at worst."_

" _So how do we fix that?" asked Harry._

" _We don't." was the reply. "But for you, the lesson is this. They walked into that Alley and expected exactly what they got. Thus, they won. Your enemy will expect you to act a certain way, behave a certain way. So, don't."_

oOoOoOoOo

The six were bruised and sore when they made it to the Death Chamber. All were on their feet and able to fight, but none were at 100%.

"Potty's going to be in so much trouble!" shouted the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry felt Neville tense up beside him, and placed a hand on his friend's arm.

"Indeed, Mister Potter, Dumbledore would be quite disappointed." came the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy. Harry could almost hear the sneer, moreso now that the masks were off. Luna had summoned them all with a powerful _Accio_ , not realizing that the death eaters used sticking charms to secure the masks during battle. Two junior death eaters had found themselves pulled forward, right into the last curses they would ever see.

"And after all of that running and fleeing," continued Lucius, "You still try to play the hero. The Dark Lord expected that, and look - he was right, here you are." Malfoy reached out his hand. "Give us the prophecy, or I fear you'll come to a sticky end." Another death eater - Crabbe's father, perhaps? - walked over to Malfoy, as if to guard him.

The other five students had spread out around the room, marking the five remaining death eaters. Even now, when they were outnumbered, the death eaters acted as if they had the superior numbers. Did they not realize how many of their fallen fellows would not be getting back up?

Harry's eyes met Hermione's, and she nodded. She had seen him palm a second prophecy. "Alright, Mister Malfoy," said Harry. "Please, just don't hurt us. I'll give you the orb if you promise." He made his voice sound small - no small feat in the echo-filled expanse of the Death Chamber. Slowly, he lifted the second orb. He glanced at the tag, filing the information away for later. It didn't matter now.

 **S.P.T. to L.E. and A.L. in re James Potter and Harry Potter**

The sneer on Malfoy's face told him that the act was working - Harry was still just a kid. "Here!" Harry shouted, tossing the second prophecy above Malfoy's head.

"No!" shouted Malfoy, as he reached up for the orb. Crabbe made a try at it as well. Neither was watching Harry, nor did they see Ron. Two curses struck Crabbe, taking his left arm off at the shoulder and shattering his ribs. With all eyes on the prophecy, no one noticed him as he bled to death.

Harry summoned Malfoy's boots, causing the death eater to topple. He watched helplessly as the orb shattered on the stone. Spellfire had broken out in earnest, with curses and jinxes flying everywhere. Harry stepped forward, his wand on Malfoy. The tail end of the prophecy was fading in the noise, but Harry made out "...at the hands of the sons…" before the mist from the orb faded.

 _No matter._ Harry took aim at Bellatrix, sending a _Langlock_ curse her way. With a snarl, she tried to stun him. His shield was ready, but not needed - for someone else had shielded him.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Nymphadora Tonks. Beside her, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were opening fire on the Death Eaters.

Harry's heart sank. "You know it was a trap, right?"

"We know. Voldemort is upstairs fighting the Headmaster and the others."

That got Harry's attention - _Dumbledore KNEW?_

"Who told you to come here, Tonks?" Harry asked, as he shot more spells at Bellatrix. Ginny was giving her a run for her money, and the mad witch was starting to look worried. Seeing Malfoy on his face didn't help matters.

"Dumbledore, who else?" she replied. _That tears it,_ thought Harry.

Sirius was now engaging with Bella, and their duel was a fierce one. Harry saw one curse that would have sent his godfather through the veil, and shielded it. Tonks was about to move into a better position to help when Harry grabbed her elbow.

"Tonks, who else is coming down here?" Harry asked.

"Just us." She said, unconcerned. "The others have enough to deal with, it sounded like." With that, she slid around the chamber, hoping for a better angle. A year ago, even, Harry would have raged at the revelation - that Dumbledore had known not only what was happening here, but that Voldemort was involved. _It doesn't matter how prepared we are,_ Harry thought, _how dare he send children to do his job?_ It was one thing to sneak behind his back, but quite another to learn that he knew and approved all along.

Now, though, he had business. There would be time for anger later.

Harry felt it then, the telltale sign of an incoming apparition. Even if they were a friendly, from what Tonks had said there was no way they'd be coming this soon. So it was likely a death eater. Harry levelled his wand, and bound the wizard as soon as he appeared - the bindings were just in case it was someone from the Order. The cloaked figure fell over immediately, just in time for Luna to silence him.

Another had apparated into the room, it seemed. "Stop!" shouted Lucius Malfoy. "Stop or she dies!"

All eyes went to the blonde wizard, who had a woman by the throat with a wand at her temple. The cloaked woman was struggling fiercely. The cloak seemed to match the man he had just dropped, which might mean that they were someone else. Not Order, then, but not death eaters. _Who?_

"What a surprise, my dear," Lucius hissed into the woman's ear. Then he looked up at Harry. "Place your wands on the floor and walk away, and I'll release her before we get to the floo."

Harry kept his wand on the death eater, but sensed Bellatrix approaching on his right. Wordlessly, he cast an _Accio_ at her robes, dragging the surprised witch toward him. Before she knew what was happening, Harry had her bound and silenced. His knife went to her throat, and she stilled.

Lucius sneered again. "A hostage, Potter? Would you really trade Bella for this one?"

"I don't know, Lord Malfoy, who is she? I thought she was one of yours."

That got a laugh from the death eater. "No, no, Mister Potter, this one is most definitely yours." He pulled her hood down, and revealed a red-haired witch with fair features and haunting green eyes.

He had seen those eyes before. That morning, in the mirror.

Malfoy could not contain his glee. The game had truly changed. "It looks like your brat is just as surprised as I am, Lily."

oOoOoOoOo

Harry's mind raced, trying to figure the angles here. _Polyjuice requires something of the target. Polyjuice requires something…._ "Oh, for fuck's sake, Snape, you bastard!" exclaimed Harry.

"Snape?" asked Malfoy.

Luna was tending to Neville's wounds, but looked up at that. In a sing-song voice, she spoke. "Oh, Lord Malfoy, you have no idea what you've done."

Harry's grip tightened on Bella. With a twist of his wand, he tightened her bindings, and smiled at the sound of her elbows breaking. The silencing spell did little to quell the anguish on her face. The madness was gone, now, replaced with only terror. Her husband Rodolphus, bound and silenced on the other side of the room, seemed to enjoy her suffering.

"Your pet spy kept my mother's hair for fifteen fucking years?! Only to try something this desperate? How DARE you?" Harry had kept tight control over himself during the battle, but this outrage had been a step too far. "My dead mother suddenly appears right when Voldemort sets a trap for me? Pull the other one, it's got bells on."

He did not see the look of terror on the woman's face.

"Nevertheless," said Malfoy, who was fighting the urge to back away from the angry boy in front of him.

"Harry," said Sirius, in a warning tone. He had stepped over to stand beside Ron, who was guarding a bound Gregory Goyle Senior. "Be careful," he said.

"Yes, Harry, be careful," mocked Malfoy. "We both know you will do nothing except let us go and walk away. Our master knows you, he knows exactly how your Order will retreat every time." He sneered one last time. "Walk away."

Harry glanced over at Neville, who nodded slightly. "Speed?" Neville said, chancing a nonsense word that would sound non-threatening. Harry nodded in confirmation, as little as he dared.

Malfoy saw the motion, and glared at him. "Well?" the man snarled.

Keeping his knife at Bella's throat, Harry placed his wand in his pocket. Holding his right hand open, he made eye contact with Lucius. He maintained that eye contact as he brought his now empty hand across Bellatrix Lestrange's face. Grasping her chin, he suddenly twisted her head to the side.

The Death Chamber echoed with the sickening crack of her spine. As soon as Harry struck, Neville stunned the red-haired woman. Malfoy dropped her, attempting to defend himself - while forgetting about Ginny, who stunned him from behind.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment. And then the students began shouting "Clear!"

Sirius was examining Bellatrix, who was lying still on the floor, her eyes open and unseeing. "You killed her, Harry."

"Yes I did," he replied. "My job was to get everyone out of here, and fuck the rest of them." He nodded to Neville Longbottom, who was watching the pair from across the room. "And besides, I owed a debt to House Longbottom."

Before Sirius could respond, Hermione called Harry over to the red-haired woman. The fallen witch could actually have been Lily Potter, if they made her look older than she had been at the time of her death. Even the willow wand was accurate, or seemed to be.

"She's not under polyjuice, Harry." said Hermione, worriedly. Harry stared at the woman, before looking back to Hermione.

"What, you're suggesting that she's actually my mother?" Harry asked. For the first time that night, a note of concern crept into his voice. But no, he could not dare hope. It wasn't possible.

 _Was it?_

In the quiet of the Death Chamber, Sirius' whisper was like a cannon shot. Harry's head snapped around to look at his godfather, who was checking out that last death eater who had apparated in. The one with the same cloak as 'Lily'. _Oh, no,_ was about the only thought Harry could muster before what Sirius had said registered.

"Prongs?"

oOoOoOoOo

Healers were swarming over the remains of the Ministry Atrium, tending to the wounded aurors and civilians present. The duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore had been the stuff of legend, the sort of duel one might tell their children about someday.

The finale, too, would grow in the telling. Just as Voldemort had seemed to get the upper hand on his much older opponent, a bolt of magic had struck him from the side. Every eye turned to see…. Harry Potter?

"Ahhhh," Voldemort had hissed. "The substitute."

"I've waited a long time for this," said the boy, before he struck. Voldemort laughed in his face, shielding and parrying the boy's spells. It was obvious to all who saw, however, that the boy had some power behind his magic - and that, combined with Dumbledore's renewed assault, put Voldemort at risk.

His death eaters were not coming back, he realized. They had failed him. With a hiss of anger, the Dark Lord vanished.

By the time Madam Bones had made it over to the Headmaster and his student, the elevator had begun to operate again. Amelia thought nothing of it, for her mind could not wrap itself around the identity of this boy who had saved them.

"James Potter?" she asked.

"Yes, Madam Bones," said the boy.

She eyed Dumbledore with no small measure of anger. "And now I suppose you're going to tell me that James and Lily survived?" Dumbledore had the grace to look down. That was it for Amelia. "Oh for fuck's sake Albus!"

"Funny," the three turned to see a bloodied Harry Potter walking toward them. "That was my reaction as well, Madam Bones."

"Harry, my boy, are you alright?" The Headmaster asked.

Harry nodded. "We're all fine, sir." He turned to the Director of the DMLE. "Madam Bones, there are at least seven stunned and bound death eaters in the Hall of Mysteries and the Death Chamber, one of whom is Lucius Malfoy. You also have probably twelve corpses. All of the dead bear the dark mark. We secured two additional prisoners as well."

Dumbledore's heart sank at that news. "Who are the two prisoners?"

Harry's eyes seemed to bore into Dumbledore, though his expression was carefully neutral. "They seem to be Lily and James Potter, but we all know that that can't be the case, because they died to save my life, right Headmaster?"

The boy next to Dumbledore spoke up, then. "Oi, that's my mum and dad!"

Harry turned his gaze to the boy. They were of a height, though Harry was just slightly taller - possible due to the boots he wore. They had the same hair, though different lengths. The same eyes, the same build. Unbidden, Harry's thoughts went to the prophecy - and how perhaps it _hadn't_ been his father on it after all.

"James Potter, Junior, I presume?" Harry asked. Madam Bones heard the fatigue in his voice, and realized just how major a shock this must be. _And that didn't even account for whatever took place downstairs,_ she thought.

"You must be Harry, then." James said. Harry thought, just for a moment, that he heard the beginnings of a Malfoy-level sneer work their way into the boy's…. No, his _twin's_ voice. _Merlin_ , Harry thought.

Harry chuckled, the weariness beginning to take its toll. Perhaps it was that fatigue, or just the numbness at what he had done that night, but Harry decided in that moment to lay his cards on the table.

In Parseltongue, he spoke to his brother. **{"Are you alright?"}** he asked.

James' eyes grew wide at the public display, but he still replied. **{"Fine."}** Then he paused. **{"Mom and Dad?"}**

Harry nodded. "They're fine, just stunned. Sirius is with them."

James nodded at that. "Well, good." He seemed to be considering his next words carefully, fighting the urge to say something. Had he looked over at Dumbledore, he would have seen the look of panic on the Headmaster's face.

"Harry," James began. "Thank you for protecting me while I trained to be the boy-who-lived." He sounded sincere, he sounded rational. But he also clearly had no idea that he had just changed _everything._

Harry stared at him for a moment, then at Dumbledore. His voice was low and cold, clearly angry - but not as much as might be expected, all things considered. "You knew?"

To his credit, the Headmaster looked ashamed. But then Harry saw him square his shoulders and steel himself for the criticism. "It was for the greater good, my boy."

Harry shared a look with Madam Bones, one that she interpreted as something along the lines of _Can you believe this asshole?_ She smiled at Harry, letting him know that they were on the same page. They would talk at length about that night, and everything that had happened, but not now.

"Right, well, we might want to hold off on that coronation, dear brother." Harry reached into his pouch, producing the prophecy orb. "Being the boy-who-lived isn't all it's cracked up to be."

James didn't know how to respond, and so didn't. Instead, he looked intently at the orb. "How can you hold it?"

"Yes, how is this possible?" asked the Headmaster, quietly, though the worry was plain in his voice. "Only the subject of a prophecy can touch it without risking madness." He looked at Harry with sadness in his eyes, as if diagnosing a case of terminal cancer. "A remarkable student you may be, but I'm afraid you're not as special as you thought you were, Harry my boy."

Later, Harry would forgive the Headmaster his unfortunate turn of phrase. In the moment, however, the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

Getting ahold of his anger, Harry sighed, before shaking his head at the Headmaster. "It seems that your plan is and was fatally flawed, sir." He handed over the card that came with the prophecy - the one clearly showing both Harry and James.

With a slight nod, Harry acknowledged Madam Bones. "Madam Bones, gentlemen, I'm going to go check on my team, and then I plan to sleep for about a week. After that, we'll want to have a cup of tea and a sit down, I suspect."

James looked up, his face a mask of confusion, only to see Harry walking away. Everything he knew, everything he had been told, was laid bare as a lie. Or, at least, as an untruth. Dumbledore seemed shocked as well, though, so perhaps there was hope. _Mom and Dad will know what to do,_ thought James. To Harry, he raised his voice. "Don't you care what it says?"

Harry shot him a look over his shoulder, the floo powder still in his hand. "Of course I do, why do you think I made a copy for myself?" Then he leaned into the floo. "Saint Mungo's!" And with that, he was gone.

James looked up at the Headmaster, who seemed to be having a panic attack. Every plan, every stratagem, was now obsolete. James gave voice to what they were both thinking.

"What the hell do we do now?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **This is a meditation of sorts on DZ2's Prodigal Son challenge, wherein a Grey or Dark Harry learns that his parents survived the Halloween attack, only to go into hiding with a sibling who was the actual Boy-who-lived. They trained for years under Dumbledore's watchful eye, all while allowing Harry to be abused and mistreated at Durzkaban, and then later endangered and cast out at Hogwarts. And then, in either the Ministry or the Graveyard, they swoop in and pat Harry on the head and tell him good job, now your sibling can take over.**

 **Suffice to say, that doesn't go over so well.**

 **Here, I took a grey Harry who had taken the Art of War as gospel, and who had a mentor to guide him. Military!Harry is a trope rarely seen, and I wanted to take a swing at it. But take that further - if Lily and James showed up in the middle of a firefight, with a Harry on a hair trigger? It took quite a bit to keep me from having him _Reducto_ them on sight, as he simply assumed it was a trick. This works better, I think. **

**So, James and Lily survived (along with a very confused Sirius). Bellatrix didn't - which highlights exactly the sort of pragmatic mission-focused Harry we're dealing with. Dumbledore, who deployed James and the Potters specifically for this moment, believed that James Jr. was the BWL. Whoops.**

 **The challenge presumes that Harry is not actually the BWL, and thus has to preserve his place and his agency in a world where he is now superfluous. Here, I reversed that - James and Lily and James Jr. re-emerge into the world, and find _themselves_ unnecessary. As Harry said, "Welp." **

**Regarding Speed: One time, Neville and Harry got to talking about hostages. That reminded Harry of a muggle film he had seen, where the man said to shoot the hostage, and well...**

 **( _No plans to continue this as such, this was mainly a plot bunny that came out of the challenge. Perhaps I'll reuse Colonel Ramsay at some point. If someone wants to adopt this scenario and run with it, feel free to PM.)_**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**

 _ **2nd A/N 1/24/2019:**_ **After multiple comments and messages, not to mention peer pressure from the LeadVonE Discord, I've decided to mark this as in-progress. I will be continuing the story, though do not expect frequent updates. Harry Potter, et al, and the Keystone Council will remain my main focus for the time being, but keep an eye on this space. Thank you all for your comments, the response to this story has been overwhelming.**


	2. The Hospital

The healers at Saint Mungo's had been prepared to receive casualties. They had received a notice from the DMLE of a battle at the Ministry, and had a trauma team on standby. The hospital normally kept the emergency portkey room staffed, as most aurors would carry a portkey when in the field. Tonight, however, they had a full team ready and waiting.

Instead of the expected auror and civilian casualties, what they got were three witches and two wizards who were awake and alert on arrival. Each had their wands out, ready for anything. Only when they recognized their surroundings did the five put their wands away and allow themselves to be treated.

The teenagers had few injuries worse than cuts from broken glass, though those cuts had the potential to scar, seeing as they were mostly caused by the enchanted glass of shattered prophecies. Most of their bruises and scrapes had already been treated with muggle-style field bandages, to the surprise of the healers. Ginny Weasley had sprained an ankle in the death room, when she misjudged her footing - but it was no matter, as she took down Rodolphus Lestrange from her back.

No aurors were treated that night, nor were any death eaters sent in for medical care. The healers later learned that there had been no badly injured death eaters - only captured and dead ones. The team lead, whose muggleborn wife had been killed the month prior, found it very hard to feel bad about their fate, despite his oaths.

Hermione was waiting on her official release when Harry arrived. In a shot, she was across the room, giving him a hug. Harry had seen her coming, knowing her as he did, and caught her.

"Are you ok?" she asked his shoulder, not breaking the hug.

"I will be," was his reply. It was all still too fresh, too raw. His parents, his _brother_ , Dumbledore's betrayal. All of it would need time.

"So it's real, then? They were…?" She pulled away to look at him, getting a read on his reactions.

A nod. "Yep. It's them." He shook his head and chuckled at the reality of that statement. "My parents are alive, and Dumbledore knew."

Hermione looked just as horrified as he expected her to; so much of his life was defined not just by the actual loss of his parents, but by the manner of it as well. That they had died to protect him was part of everything he did, every decision. Much of what he had done this past year was his attempt to live up to the Potter legacy.

To then learn that they lived? _How is he standing here, composed and calm?_

Her eyes must have told the tale, for Harry just grinned at her. "It's the end of the year, Hermione, of course my life would get upended. That's how these things work, remember?" That got him a little shove, just enough to make her point.

"Prat," she said, her eyes wet. He saw that she was smiling, though, which was good. _The anger will come later,_ he thought.

Her features clouded a bit, and he revised that estimate - her explosion might be sooner rather than later. Again she looked up. "What do we do about them?"

Harry let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He had been considering this very question for the last half hour. Ever since his run-in with James Junior. _With my brother,_ he corrected.

"I need time," he said quietly, after a few moments. "I need to process this, figure out where I stand, before I do anything." He sighed again, sadly. "As much as I want answers yesterday, as much as I think I _deserve_ answers, what happens with them isn't mission critical right now."

Hermione nodded to him, saying nothing. He had just about come out and said that the 'Potters' and his brother were unimportant, at least in the short term. _When he puts it that way, he's right._

"James was seen fighting Voldemort in the atrium," Harry said. "No one spoke to me when I got off of the lifts, which makes me think that everyone assumed I was an auror."

"You went straight to Amelia, didn't you?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded. "Then you're right, they probably figured you were from the DMLE. Wearing a long coat, clearly having come from a battle? And you said your… um, James' hair was different?"

Another nod. "He has my hair, but his was kept long and tied back." Hermione's eyes went up to Harry's own dark hair, which he had managed to keep in a short (and obviously muggle) style. The long-haired look was closer to the standard for the young pureblood heir - which was part of why Sirius had gotten rid of it.

"Right, then," Hermione continued. "I doubt anyone would make you out to be twins, then." She looked thoughtful. "And James Senior and Lily were, um, apprehended away from the public eye."

"It might not be public, then." Harry considered that. "Surely they won't just go back into hiding?"

"They might not have even been in hiding. Maybe they lived abroad under other names." Hermione speculated. "Did James have an odd accent?"

"Not that I noticed." He replied. Reaching into his coat, Harry pulled out a roll of parchment. "But I'll admit I had other things on my mind."

Hermione's eyes grew wide, even as they locked onto the document. Harry chuckled at her reaction, before handing it over. She scanned the words quickly, thankful that the quill Harry had used wrote in a clean, precise script, rather than his messy scrawl.

They had known they'd only have one shot at a transcript of the prophecy. She had made sure they would be able to take advantage. _This was critical intelligence,_ Harry had said.

He saw her look of shock at the words, her mouth hanging open. She looked up, her eyes again watering. "Oh, Harry." She hugged him again. "This means…?"

He hugged her back. "Yep." was his only response.

oOoOoOoOo

The healers put up a bit of a fuss when Neville Longbottom insisted on waiting for the rest of his group. He, Ron, Luna, and Ginny, had all been released - they were waiting only on Harry and Hermione. Harry had stopped by while they were being evaluated, and spoken with the four for a few minutes, before going to find Hermione.

Harry, for his part, had not asked to be treated. With the rumors that he had fought He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named once again just that evening, no one was going to question him. Not tonight.

So it was that the four were waiting in a small conference room when the door flew open.

Neville was on his feet before the woman saw him. It took the others a moment to recognize her, for her appearance was disheveled, as if she had rushed out of the house when she received word of the battle. She even lacked her trademark vulture hat.

Any other night, Madam Augusta Longbottom would have died before leaving the house in anything less than her best. How else to represent the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom? Tonight, however, events had taken a life of their own, and she had business more urgent even than decorum.

Seeing her grandson, Augusta strode across the conference room. Ron and Luna had stood as well, now, while Ginny remained sitting, her ankle still healing. None spoke, and thus the room was silent when Augusta's hand met Neville's cheek with a resounding SLAP!

The Longbottom Scion said nothing, but kept his eyes on his grandmother. The woman was seething in rage, her magic pulsing angrily, and Neville would do nothing to make it worse.

"How DARE you!" Augusta almost shouted. She was shaking, such was her anger. Then Neville saw her eyes, and realized what was really happening. A year ago, he never would have stood up to his grandmother. A year ago, he would have cowered, bowing before her magic and her presence.

Of course, a year ago he would not have been here in the first place.

Augusta punched him in the shoulder, hard. "How could you?" She said, her voice breaking. Neville stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her. The anger seemed to drain away from her then, her rage giving way to weeping, and she began hugging him right back.

"I can't lose you," he heard her say. "Not you too."

"I know, Gran," he said quietly. "I know it."

Augusta realized, in that moment, how tall Neville had become. How tall he stood now, as he comforted her. She stepped back a bit, collecting herself, her hands on his shoulders. She looked him up and down, seeing the black trousers with pockets everywhere, the heavy black boots, the basilisk skin long coat.

Her thoughts went to the night her son had come home from his first shift as an Auror, his face glowing in triumph as he showed off his red auror's robes, the red leather wand holster that his friend James had given him.

She looked up at her grandson, smiling at him with the same smile she had given Frank that night. "Your father would be so incredibly proud of you, Neville." Her voice was still quiet, but everyone in the room heard her.

Neville's reaction, in that moment, said everything. Stepping forward, he hugged his grandmother once more, only this time the sobs were his own.

"Thank you," he said.

Before long, the moment had passed, and Luna brought tea for both of the Longbottoms. Augusta looked at her grandson's companions, nodding her thanks to them for helping Neville. Then she sat back in her chair.

They all saw the change. No longer was she Neville's gran, concerned for the boy she had raised. No, now she was Madam Augusta Longbottom, the Regent Longbottom, longtime scourge of the Wizengamot.

"Tell me everything," she said, in a voice that brooked no argument.

oOoOoOoOo

"Mister Potter!" Harry and Hermione turned around, only to see an older wizard rushing towards them from the other end of the corridor. Hermione saw the pin on the man's drab brown robes, and elbowed Harry. When he looked at her, she mouthed the word _Prophet_ , and then inclined her head at the man.

With a sigh, Harry stopped walking and waited for the man to catch up. "How can I help you, sir?" he asked politely.

The old wizard stopped a few paces away, having seen Hermione's wand in her hand. Even having identified him as a reporter, she was taking no chances. Not tonight.

"Barnabas Cuffe, with the _Daily Prophet_ ," the man said. "I'd like a moment of your time, Mister Potter, if you don't mind?"

Again Harry shared a glance with Hermione. She knew that the _Prophet_ 's coverage of Harry and Dumbledore this year had bothered her friend, but he had repeatedly declined to do anything overt about it. Beyond one interview with the _Quibbler_ , the magazine published by Luna's father, the group had deliberately kept quiet. Harry had suggested that being publicly marginalized helped to encourage others to underestimate him, which served their goals in the long-term. After his "meeting" with Umbridge the day before, she had admitted that the strategy had worked to some degree - at least as far as the Senior Undersecretary was concerned.

The death eaters had certainly underestimated him, to their great regret.

This man, the actual Editor-in-Chief of the prophet, was the architect of most of that coverage. The six had decided early on that he must be receiving information and direction from the Ministry, likely from the Minister himself, but Cuffe was the one approving headlines. He was the one who assigned reporters, who approved their sources - or who approved their pieces whether they had sources or not.

Sirius had, correctly, pointed out that the _Prophet_ had not held a shareholders' meeting in eight years. Through his solicitor, he had inquired about calling such a meeting, for the Blacks owned just under 10% of the paper. Not enough to take control, but enough to shake things up a bit. They had wondered, though - why would the shareholders care? As long as the paper was in the ministry's pocket, their profits were assured. The Malfoys, who owned 15%, certainly wouldn't consider a change in direction.

Being a fugitive, he could not reach out to other part owners, and so he and Harry had left it alone, knowing it was a card they could play later if the need arose.

Harry considered Mister Cuffe, who was still catching his breath. He knew that this might be an opportunity to control the narrative, so to speak, but he did not want to step on Amelia's toes after she had been so helpful to them in the past few months. Nor did he want to antagonize Dumbledore just yet - and speaking to the media would be the surest way to win himself another "I'm disappointed in you, my boy," speech from the once-and-likely-future Headmaster.

A grin crossed Harry's face. _On the other hand, reassuring the public has value of its own, doesn't it?_ Hermione saw that look, and knew what it meant. Seeing a small office nearby, she walked over and opened the door.

Harry gestured toward the door. "Of course, Mister Cuffe. Please, step into my office." Cuffe smiled at the joke, before turning and following Hermione into the small room. Harry noticed the nameplate as he walked past and winced. _Family Consultation Room_.

After fighting his way through the Ministry, and killing several death eaters, including the notorious Bellatrix Lestrange with his bare hands, he was now going to speak with the Editor-in-Chief of the _Daily Prophet_ in a room set aside for the healers to tell families that their loved ones had died. The coincidence had him shaking his head. _Merlin,_ he thought. _This is my life now._

The room was decorated in colors probably designed to calm and soothe. A muggle painting of a beach setting was the only decor, likely a concession to privacy. A small desk sat in one corner, a stack of blank parchment and a quill the only items on its surface. Cuffe took a seat at that desk, setting his own parchment down before getting out a transcribing quill. Harry relaxed a bit on seeing the courtroom-style quill; it would write down what was said in the room accurately, without the embellishment of a quick-quotes model.

Hermione was already sitting on one of the couches. Mindful of the _Prophet's_ speculations about his relationship (or lack thereof) with Hermione, Harry sat on the other couch, not wanting to give Cuffe any room to draw conclusions that weren't there.

"Right, well, Mister Potter I've heard a few rumors about your activities this evening, and I'm hoping you can clear them up." Cuffe had relaxed a bit, now that he was reporting again. The man had always enjoyed being a reporter more than sitting behind a desk, and for this story he trusted no one else.

"I'd be happy to clarify what I can, of course," said Harry, pleasantly. "That said, you do realize that there will be an extensive DMLE investigation, yes? I'll need to decline to answer some things as a result."

"Of course, of course," said Cuffe, dismissively. Hermione raised an eyebrow at the man - had he actually believed his coverage of Harry? _That changes things,_ she thought. Harry saw the smile on her face, and resisted the urge to chuckle - Cuffe had no idea what was about to happen.

oOoOoOoOo

Barnabas Cuffe was frustrated. The obvious draw of an interview with the boy-who-lived, on the evening that he was vindicated before the eyes of the Ministry and the world, was fast becoming an exercise in torture.

 _Honestly,_ thought Cuffe. _How many ways can he refuse to answer a question?_

"So, to confirm, you have no idea who attacked the ministry?"

Harry smiled. "I would have to defer to Director Bones on that, sir."

 _He did it again!_ Cuffe shook his head, checking off the question in his notebook. "Fine, then let's discuss the fight in the atrium. I already have several witnesses who describe the fight between Albus Dumbledore and another wizard. Most of them described him as You-Know-Who. Can you confirm that?"

Another smile. "I expect that the Minister's office will have an official statement on that in a few hours, you'll want to get the word from them." Harry leaned back on the couch, clearly enjoying the interview. "If I were to confirm that it was indeed Voldemort, and the Ministry denied it, well - you can understand how I might object to that narrative, right?"

"But you fought him!" Cuffe almosts shouted his response, such was his frustration.

The smile faded from Harry's face. "Your witnesses saw a pale wizard with no nose and dark robes fighting against the former Headmaster of my school. I would hope that any capable wizard would aid Professor Dumbledore in that circumstance." Cuffe did not notice that Harry was not admitting that he had indeed fought him, for he had not. But the fact that the question was even asked proved one thing.

 _He doesn't know about James Junior._

Harry continued. "DMLE investigators will sample the magic used in the atrium and tell us who that wizard was. They know much more about confirming that wizard's identity than I do."

Cuffe shook his head at the non-answer - Madam Bones liked him even less than most Ministry officials. Harry saw the motion, and chuckled to himself.

"I take it that you and Madam Bones don't quite get along?" he asked. Cuffe snorted.

"Oil and Water, Mister Potter." was the reply.

"The House of Bones has been an ally of the House of Potter for a long time, Mister Cuffe, and Madam Bones herself has been most gracious in her assistance to me over the years." Harry leaned forward, dropping his voice a bit. "If you like, I can reach out to her office and make sure she knows about your questions. I don't disagree that the public will need to know the whys and wherefores, but it would be disrespectful of me to give that information out before Madam Bones has spoken."

Cuffe's eyes narrowed.

Harry continued. "After all, I am a nutter seeking little more than attention and fame, right? Anything I say is automatically suspect, isn't that right, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded. "I seem to recall reading that somewhere, yes."

Cuffe angrily snapped his fingers, and the dicta-quill ceased its movement. "So, for the record, the only thing of any substance you can tell me is that there was a battle at the Ministry, Dumbledore was somehow involved, and that the DMLE and the Minister will have a statement soon."

"That just about sums it up nicely, yes sir." said Harry, agreeably. Hermione nodded as well.

"And, off the record?" He saw both teenagers look at the dicta-quill, before returning their gaze to him.

"Off the record," said Harry, "I don't envy you the job you have this week. Backtracking a year's worth of coverage painting me as a madman will be quite the trick."

Cuffe started to put away his parchment, at that comment. Clearly he would get nothing out of the boy.

"That said," Harry continued, and Cuffe paused in his packing. "Off the record, of course." The editor nodded. "Voldemort was there. Or, at least, a wizard who looks exactly like the wizard I fought a year ago at the end of the triwizard tournament, and whose magic seemed similar as well."

Cuffe's voice grew quiet. "But it was him, then? _Him?_ "

Harry nodded.

"And the death eaters?" Cuffe asked.

"It would seem they chose an appropriate name for their club, sir." Harry's voice was cold, and it sent a chill through Cuffe.

"Did you kill any of them yourself?" _He's only a boy,_ thought Cuffe.

Harry's green eyes met Cuffe's. "I can neither confirm nor deny that, Mister Cuffe, as the incident is the subject of a DMLE investigation." And in saying nothing, Cuffe knew that the Potter boy had said _everything_.

"Dumbledore won't be happy about that, surely." said Cuffe.

Harry shrugged.

After a moment, Cuffe finished packing away his notes. "Right then, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, thank you for your time." He shook hands with both teenagers, before leaving the room as quick as he could.

Once the door closed, Hermione cast a silencing spell on it. Harry sat back down on the couch, the tension draining.

"Did you notice it?" she asked, not bothering to explain.

Harry nodded. Cuffe had almost given Harry more information than Harry had given Cuffe - which was part of why Harry had agreed to speak to the man. "Not one question about James or Lily or James Junior."

Hermione sat in the chair Cuffe had vacated. "Eventually, some auror will recognize them, and the word will be out."

Another nod. "I know. As I said, it's not something I need to worry about tonight."

"What if James… I don't know, tries to take over the house?" She looked at her friend with no small amount of worry. One of the few things in Harry's life that he could control was his House - and the past year had taught him that his status as head of an Ancient and Most Noble House was a tool he could use.

And use it he had, reaching out to Madam Bones and Lord Greengrass, both of whom had known his parents and counted themselves as friends and allies. Or like the Longbottoms, leaning on the long-standing alliance between their houses to draw Neville out of his shell this year. He was the Potter, or had been until today.

Harry held up his hand, with the gold Lord's ring revealed. "Legally, they're dead - or else someone would have noticed. Magic seems to agree. The Goblins certainly thought so - and if they didn't, it didn't stop them from installing me as Lord Potter."

Hermione chuckled at that, remembering that day a year ago. "They may have been thumbing their noses at the Ministry, you know."

Harry shrugged again. "I don't doubt it. But that will teach them to declare a fourteen year old wizard of-age just so he can dance for the entertainment of the masses." The Goblins had been thrilled to process his emancipation, moreso when Sirius Black - the Lord Black in all but name, even as a fugitive - had signed off as well. The fees Harry had paid them to keep the whole thing quiet just sweetened the deal.

He hadn't needed to be Lord Potter, certainly not publicly, though having access to Potter Manor via portkey was useful when he wanted to practice his spellwork. Colonel Ramsay had made Privet Drive more tolerable than ever, having convinced the Dursleys to feed him properly so that he could handle his 'training'. The Colonel had somehow managed to sell Vernon on the idea that Harry would be good for little more than enlisting as a soldier, and so Vernon was more than happy to hand him off to the Colonel for 'training' whenever he could.

He eyed the Lord's ring he wore, considering the essence of Hermione's question. "I don't know, Hermione. If James does try to take over as Lord Potter, I don't know what I will do. Maybe I hand it off and walk away. Maybe I kick _him_ out. Maybe we all become a family." He sighed, and Hermione heard the fatigue there, along with no small amount of hurt - too much had happened too quickly.

"You do have other options," she said.

He nodded. "That's true as well." He stood up, offering a hand to help his friend up as well. "It's not important today, though."

Hermione nodded in turn. _Sometime soon, though, it will be,_ she thought with no small amount of worry.

Cancelling the silencing charms, the pair went to meet up with the remaining members of their team.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_** **This chapter fills in some of the backstory that sets the stage - details that have little place in a one-shot but will be necessary moving forward. The fact that everyone seems to assume it was Harry in the atrium will make things interesting moving forward - and Harry has little interest in correcting those assumptions. James Junior's brash "I'll take over now, thanks" reaction to his brother still stings a bit, however unlikely this Harry is to admit it.**

 **I also wanted to show a Harry who was both politically astute (making allies with other houses) and strategic in his thinking (in not taking his Lord's ring and fleeing the Dursleys, for example). He chose to take a bit of hardship in exchange for keeping his Lordship under wraps. It was a tool in the toolbox, one he could use when he needed to in discussions with other houses, but which would only bring scrutiny from, say, Umbridge - scrutiny he had no interest in. (** **That did make his trial for underage magic a bit interesting, as we will see in a flashback later on.)**

 **Why Harry defers to Amelia will be discussed soon - as hinted at in the Atrium, and all but confirmed here, there is background we'll learn soon.**

 **As I said previously, don't expect frequent updates here - but now that I've got an outline for this story I thought I'd flesh out a bit of the status quo.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	3. The Debrief

Lily Potter found herself laying on a couch. The lights in the room were bright, almost glaring, with a stark, impersonal quality that screamed _office_. Her head was pounding, probably from the stunner she had taken.

That thought brought her up short. Unbidden, her hand went to her throat. _He had me,_ she thought. _I should be dead._

Then she remembered the sight of her son. Her _other_ son. He had fought the death eaters, he had gone toe to toe with Lucius Malfoy, and had even taken down Crabbe. _No,_ she realized with a start. _He killed Crabbe. Took his arm clean off._ The powerful cutting spell had startled her when she saw it - leaving her out of sorts enough to get taken as a hostage by Malfoy.

The anger in Harry's face when he saw her, though - THAT had frightened her. For there had been no love in those eyes, no relief, no joy at a long awaited reunion. No, he had had only anger. Even when he made clear that he didn't believe that she was really his mother, his reaction had still hurt.

When she saw James get stunned, seconds after arriving, she had lost hope. With that, and Harry's reaction, Lily had become convinced that she was going to die.

And then Frank and Alice's boy stunned her.

"Good," a voice broke the silence. "You're awake."

Lily sat up on the leather couch, and looked around. It was a simple workroom, good for finishing parchment work or for interviewing suspects. _The DMLE, then_ , she realized. Sitting across the room, sipping her tea, was Amelia Bones.

"Amelia," Lily began. The head of the DMLE raised her hand, stopping her greeting.

"What did I say after I rescued you during our first flying lesson?" she asked.

Lily frowned. "That wasn't you, that was Edgar. He thought that gryffindors all knew how to fly before they were sorted."

That got no reaction from Madam Bones. "To which you replied?"

"I told him that he needed to work on his lines if he expected to make it in Hufflepuff." Lily replied, smiling at the memory.

Now, Amelia nodded, and put her wand back in its holster. Lily realized that the Director had had her at wandpoint the entire time. _What if I had answered wrong?_

"So," said the Director. "You're alive."

Lily could only nod.

"You and James."

Another nod.

"And a son that no one seems to remember you having."

Lily nodded again.

"You understand, I trust, that this whole situation seems absolutely ridiculous, yes?" Amelia seemed to have relaxed, somewhat, but her whole demeanor told Lily exactly what she thought of this evening's events.

"I can see how it might look, yes." answered Lily. "The Headmaster did warn us that it would take time."

"Time," said Amelia, with a bit of a scoff. "That does bring up an interesting point, though. Why now?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, why tonight? Why here, at the ministry?" Amelia looked intently at her guest, taking another sip of tea. "The Dark Lord's public return will take your headlines, yes, but surely you realize that someone had to have recognized you. Eventually, the word will be out."

"Yes," Lily replied. "Albus said that Harry needed our help. How could we not come and save our son?"

Lily did not know what reaction she expected from Madam Bones - but a snort of laughter was not it.

"Did I say a funny thing, Amelia?" asked Lily, with no small measure of annoyance.

"You did, but the amazing thing is that I don't think you meant to." she replied, still chuckling. Off Lily's look, she straightened up. "Lily, of all the times Harry's life has been in danger, tonight was pretty much the least of them."

"The death eaters were ambushing him!" Lily almost shouted. "Him and five of his school friends against over twenty hardened death eaters! What was I supposed to do? They set a trap for my son!"

Amelia's face hardened. "They tried to, yes." She stood, setting her tea on the desk nearby. "But they walked into a trap instead, and a dozen of them are dead."

She had seen the end of Bellatrix, but hearing the numbers from Amelia was horrifying to Lily. "And whose idea was that trap?"

Walking to the doorway, Amelia paused. "Harry's." She allowed herself a smile as she watched Lily's reaction. "Not the reunion you expected, exactly." It was not a question.

Weakly, Lily shook her head. _My son is more of a killer than I knew._

"Well, be that as it may," said Amelia. "You and your husband are both who you say you are, as confirmed by witnesses and magic. Try as they might, the investigators found no crimes for which you could be charged, though I imagine Albus will need to answer some hard questions about the whole 'faking your deaths' thing." She noticed Lily's wince at that, and filed it away for later. "I'll need you to come in later this week for a formal interview."

Lily nodded. "Of course."

"Good," was the reply. Opening the door, Amelia paused again. Over her shoulder, she looked back at Lily Potter. "Harry is a good man, Lily. He is full of surprises. I really hope this was all worth it." And with that, she was gone.

She was too far down the corridor to hear Lily's quiet "Me too."

oOoOoOoOo

Kingsley Shacklebolt had not been a close friend of former auror James Potter, having joined the Auror force only days before the day the Dark Lord fell.

 _The day this man died,_ thought Kingsley, with a shake of his head.

Out loud, Kingsley had asked the only question that had really mattered. "Why?"

James chuckled sadly, sipping his coffee. The headache was still there, but getting better. "Why, what?"

The auror sat back in his chair. "Why, everything, really. Why fake your deaths? Why leave Harry behind? Why come back now?"

James sighed. "Even the Goblins, for the right coin, would track us down - unless we were dead. Sirius had already retrieved Harry before we woke up, and the world knew he lived - if he disappeared after that, it would have shattered the peace."

Kingsley said nothing, knowing he would review the concealed transcribing quill's account later. ""I see. And tonight?"

"Harry was in danger," was the reply. Then a sad chuckle escaped him. "Seems like he handled himself well, though. Far better than we could have imagined." _Was that pride in his voice?_ Kingsley wondered. _Why? You never taught him any of those skills._

"He did quite well. Surely, better than we would have done at his age."

That got a nod from James. "Perhaps," he said quietly. He struggled to keep his thoughts in order, but the worry was starting to seep through. _Albus said he would be helpless. He wasn't. What else have we gotten wrong?_

"And your other son," continued Kingsley, this time with just a hint of annoyance. That revelation would bother a lot of people, as well. _Harry Potter has a twin,_ one of the aurors had whispered as James passed.

 _If everything had gone to plan, they'd be saying that James Potter was the one with a twin,_ James senior thought. He shook himself from his thoughts - no use regretting how things had played out now.

To Kingsley, James merely shrugged. "It's a very long story, I'm afraid."

Now Shacklebolt was the one chuckling. "Well," he said, standing up. "You'll have a chance to tell it. Dumbledore has summoned the Order."

James, too, stood up. "Finally," he said. "It will be good to get back to it."

He did not see the look Shacklebolt gave him at those words. "Indeed, fifteen years in hiding must have been difficult."

"You have no idea," said James, as he walked to the door.

Shacklebolt brought himself up short. _However hard you had it, James Potter, it was nothing compared to what Harry's gone through._ He shook his head, sadly. _This will not go well._

oOoOoOoOo

"So."

James Junior watched his Uncle Padfoot. "So."

"So did they make you someone else's godson when they took my memories of you?" Sirius Black asked.

"No," Jamie replied. "My godfather is… was Frank Longbottom."

"Ah," said Sirius. "And you're the boy who lived."

A nod. "That's what they tell me, yes sir."

"None of that," snapped Sirius. "You call me sir, and I look around for my grandfather."

A grin crossed Jamie's face, and he relaxed a bit. "Of course, Lord Black." He leaned forward in his chair, mockingly attempting a bow while seated. That got a laugh from Sirius, and broke the tension a bit.

After a moment, Sirius spoke again. "Where have you been living? Abroad?"

Jamie shook his head. "I can't say, Sirius. Not with the enchantments that surround the property."

"Ah," he replied. "Didn't think your dad would trust a _Fidelius_ again, even if it worked out better than we thought last time."

"It's not that," replied Jamie. "I mean, it is, but there's more to it." He paused. "Have you ever heard of a Faraday enchantment?" Sirius shook his head. "Well, it's like a ward scheme, only it makes the wards impenetrable to all magic. Nothing gets in or out."

Sirius nodded, now, seeing the value. But then he realized exactly what James Junior had said. "Ah, that explains it." he said, nodding.

"Explains what?" asked Jamie.

"The goblins," was the reply. "They have magic that can tell if someone is alive or not. To them, your parents were both dead." He whistled. "That's powerful magic, kid."

"It's all mom," replied Jamie.

Sirius laughed, and more tension left the room. "That does sound like Lily, all right."

They sat quietly for a few minutes. James Junior didn't know quite what to say to one of his father's oldest friends, the man who was supposed to have been his uncle in all but blood - and who had literally spent twelve years in hell because he didn't know that the Potters had survived. Of all the reunions the Potters would have to endure now that they were back in the Wizarding World, it was the one between Prongs and Padfoot that worried James Senior the most.

Both of them looked up as the door opened. They saw James and Lily Potter walk into the room. Then James Junior saw Sirius Black stand up, his expression unreadable. Slowly, Sirius walked towards his old friend, who wisely stood still.

A hand went to James' shoulder. Their eyes met, and both men were surprised that the other seemed to be moments away from weeping. Then the dam broke.

Sirius embraced his brother, letting the sobs come. He ignored the sobs he got in return.

"Prongs, _Merlin,_ it's really you!"

oOoOoOoOo

Lily spoke quietly with her son as the Marauders reunited.

"How's Moony, Sirius?" asked James.

"He's good, drinking his potions and taking care of himself." Sirius grinned, then, as their prank came to mind. "I hired him as the Steward for House Black, actually."

James laughed at that. "Old Walburga would come back from the dead if she found out that a werewolf was the steward of her house."

"Oh, her portrait gave me a stern talking to," replied Sirius. "The old bat only shut up when I threatened to burn the house down."

"Still in the same old townhouse?" James asked.

A nod. "Turns out it's a perfect location for bird-watching." James and Lily both chuckled at Sirius' nickname for the Order of the Phoenix. "Ah, that reminds me." Sirius handed James a slip of parchment. "You'll need that for the meeting tonight."

James looked at the writing, before handing it to his wife. When it got to James Junior, the boy looked at it closely.

 _The Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at 12 Grimmauld Place._

As if a switch had been thrown, Jamie realized that he now knew the secret. He had studied the _Fidelius_ , and knew how it worked - but the only secret he had ever known was that of his home, and growing up under a _Fidelius_ had made it hard to think of the secret as a secret.

He knew the secret, in his heart, but could not articulate it. _The secret home of the Potters is at Falcon's Rest._ Such a simple thought, and yet he could not even speak the words. He realized that he couldn't even tell his brother where their family's home was, where it had been for fifteen years. Where he learned to fly, where he had learned dueling and studied from the Master Auror's Manual itself.

His father had told him stories of Hogwarts, of Potter Manor, and even of Godric's Hollow. As much as he had loved growing up on the coast, secluded from nearly everyone, he had to admit that part of him longed to see where his parents had met, where his father had grown up. Those places were a part of his history, just as Falcon's Rest would always be.

 _I wonder what Harry will think of Potter Manor?_ Jamie wondered to himself.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry Potter woke to sunlight streaming into his bedroom. Opening his eyes, he looked at the wall across from his bed, and took in the proud crest of House Potter, with its lions and shields and griffins. He had not yet studied the heraldry of the crest, nor had he learned the meanings associated with it - but it had been a symbol to him, nonetheless. He looked to that crest as a connection to his family and his history.

It was proof that his House had been here long before he had been, and - magic willing - would be there long after he was gone.

He glanced back up at the crest as he got dressed, considering it. After the previous night's revelations, he wondered if that crest would ever have the same meaning for him.

 _How proud can I be of a house that would abandon one of its sons?_ He wondered.

A conversation he had had with Sirius came to mind, then. Harry had asked about the grand tapestry in Grimmauld Place, showing every member of the Black family. Two of the faces he found there had surprised him - Narcissa Malfoy, and his own.

" _Cissy is my uncle's daughter," Sirius had said, chuckling at the nickname that had so infuriated his cousin in their youth. "And your grandmother Dorea was my grandfather Arcturus' sister. So, even distantly, you're a Black as well."_

 _Harry had thought about that, running his hand over Draco's small portrait, branching off from his mother. "Seems as if Draco would be a better Black than I would, if your mother's portrait is any indication."_

 _The Lord Black shook his head. "It used to be that the Blacks stood for pure blood above all else. I learned that lesson well under my dear mother's wand. Charming woman, she was." His voice grew quiet as he tapped the still portrait next to his. Regulus Arcturus Black, it read. "What did that get us? Of the five in my generation, I was kicked out, Andromeda was banished for daring to love a muggleborn, Narcissa kneels to the Dark Lord, old Bella is crazier than a bag of cats, and Reggie…" His voice trailed off, as he looked at the picture of his brother. "Reggie thought he was honoring his family. And Voldemort killed him for it."_

 _Sirius stepped away from the tapestry, clearly fighting to control his emotions. Harry placed his hand on the man's shoulder, trying to offer some small comfort. His godfather patted him on the hand in thanks._

" _They said that blood came first, when really it should be family. In their stupidity, they nearly destroyed the House of Black, trying to honor its legacy." He shook his head again. "No more." Looking down at Harry, he placed his own hand on Harry's shoulder, looking into his eyes. "You, on the other hand, would do anything to protect the ones you think of as family. I mean, look at me - you saved my life, when not a day before you would have wished me dead."_

" _No, Harry," said Sirius, his voice almost a whisper. "You'd be the finest Black of us all."_

Harry thought about those words as he walked toward the staircase. He paused at the landing, and looked down at the entrance hall of Potter Manor. The Potter Crest was worked into the stone floor, taking up much of the room. It was the first thing most visitors would see. His thoughts went to his father, laying stunned on the floor of the Death Chamber - and his mother, crumpling under Neville's stunner.

He kept coming back to the same worry. _How proud can I be of a house that would abandon one of its sons?_

oOoOoOoOo

Neville and Luna were clearing their plates from lunch when Harry made his way to the kitchen. While Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had all decided to head back to the school, Harry and Neville had chosen to get what sleep they could at Potter Manor. Luna had joined them, not wanting to isolate herself in Ravenclaw Tower.

Dobby had set out a few sandwiches and some tea before Harry could even sit down. When Harry had first started to come to the Manor for training, Dobby had been delighted to serve his meals - despite all assurances from Harry that no, that wasn't necessary. Dobby would just huff and serve his meal anyway, to the great amusement of his friends.

Luna chuckled at the elf's tenacity, even as she continued to write on her parchment. She caught Harry looking over at her work, and smiled. "Nothing in the _Prophet_ today, Harry. So I'm working on a statement for tomorrow, if they get their act together."

"Right," he replied. If his little team had an information officer, she'd be it. "What do you think of Barnabas Cuffe?"

Luna paused her writing and looked up. "I think that his daughter works in the Minister's office."

Neville shook his head. "So she feeds him stories from Fudge?"

"Maybe not," Harry said, thinking back to the 'interview' he and Hermione had given Cuffe the night before. "Might be the other way around. If he doesn't print what they tell him to print, she's out on her ear."

"Either way…" began Neville.

"Yeah. Either way, it may still be a problem." He took a bite of his lunch. "We'll know tomorrow morning."

Luna nodded in agreement. Before she could go back to writing, however, there was a flash of light. Looking up, the three saw the brilliant red plumage of a phoenix.

Harry sighed. _I should have expected this,_ he thought. "Hello, Fawkes." he said. The trill of phoenix song calmed his nerves a little, though not as much as he expected. Given the events of last night, he wasn't surprised. "Is that letter for me?"

Fawkes dipped his head, and then set the letter down. Neville was already scanning it for tracking charms and such. He gave Harry a nod.

They watched as Harry opened the letter and scanned its contents. "I've been summoned, it seems." Luna slid a sheet of parchment down the table, along with a muggle pen.

Neville looked over the letter as Harry wrote a brief response. "It's tonight, then."

Rolling the answer, Harry gave it to Fawkes. With a trill of melody, the phoenix disappeared in a flash of fire.

"Yep," answered Harry, taking another sip of his tea. "It's tonight." Off her look, Neville handed the letter to Luna.

 _Mister Potter,_

 _The Order of the Phoenix invites you to its meeting tonight at Headquarters. 9pm Sharp._

 _Albus Dumbledore, O.M. 1st Class_

"He's scared," said Luna.

"I got that impression last night, though in fairness, he _had_ just fought Voldemort to a bloody standstill." mused Harry. "The award?"

Neville chuckled. "Wondered about that. No one gives a toss about his Order of Merlin, but he waves it around here like a beater bat." Neville rolled his eyes. "Look at me, I'm important, Harry, my boy."

"He has no idea," said Luna, shaking her head. "He's trying to reach out to the old Harry, not the new one."

"Bully for him," said Harry. "I'm the one he's got."

"I take it you're going, then?" asked Neville.

Harry nodded. "Of course. Dinner in the great hall, probably some threats from the ferret and his lads, and then another late night." He stood up, stretching.

"You'll be ready," said Luna. It wasn't a question.

"Of course," replied Harry. "It's not every day that you meet your parents for the first time in fifteen years."

Harry couldn't help wondering, in that moment. _But will they be ready for me?_


	4. The Parley

Mail owls were normally allowed in the great hall only during breakfast. This was done partially to keep what was essentially a dining room from turning into an owlery, with birds flying in and out at all hours of the day. It also minimized the distraction that owl post could present, as a student waiting for some important letter would know that if it didn't come today, it would come tomorrow.

Truly important messages, or messages with urgency behind them, would come in via floo to the student's head of house. Occasionally, elves were used to deliver mail as well - but even then, the wards allowed such deliveries only via the head of house.

There were only two exceptions - Gringott's official owls, and the owls of the Ministry.

The first is a legacy of one of the many conflicts between wizards and goblins - a rebellion, if asking a wizard, or a war, if it is a goblin speaking. The fact that the goblins even consented to limit deliveries to the great hall had been a surprise to the negotiators - the goblins were the ones dictating terms, after that particular conflict.

The second, meanwhile, was the result of a string of ministers in the 1850's who would simply not take no for an answer. Several Headmasters eventually talked the Ministry into limiting evening deliveries to the most important letters and documents.

Thus, the seven owls who flew into the great hall carrying black envelopes.

Ron and Hermione watched as six of the owls landed on the Slytherin table. The seventh, to their surprise, flew over to an Irish pureblood named Evan Lewis, one of the seventh year gryffindors. The boy looked resigned, but not shocked, as he opened the letter. When Katie Bell reached over to squeeze his hand, Ron remembered that they had been dating for a few weeks.

"Gran passed," Lewis said quietly. The younger students, many of whom had not known what the black envelopes meant, now understood. Someone had died, and seven Hogwarts' students were now heads of their houses.

It was a heavy thing to learn over dinner.

Harry, Neville, and Luna entered the great hall just in time to see Aaron Harper jump up from the Slytherin table and shout.

"They're lying!" the fourth year said, angrily. The letter was shaking in his hands, and Harry could tell that the grief was at least somewhat genuine. One of Harper's friends stood up and wrapped an arm around the grieving boy's shoulder, and then hugged him. Harper let the letter fall to the floor, and Harry saw the sky blue note that fell out of the folds of the letter - a notice from the DMLE that the death was under investigation.

Glancing over at the Slytherin table, Harry saw two more of those blue notices - one in front of Ambrose Rookwood, a sixth year, and another beside Vincent Crabbe, one of Draco Malfoy's bookends. He did not see who else received notices, for the other three had left the great hall as soon as they saw the envelopes.

One does not grow up in the home of a death eater without knowing what those envelopes mean. During the first war, slytherins would frequently take bets on where each black envelope would fall. In those days, it was usually one of the Dark Lord's victims getting the notice, rather than the marked.

In the confusion, no one noticed their entrance. Luna took advantage of that, making her way over to Ginny's seat at Gryffindor. Neville, seeing where Harry was looking, stayed nearby.

"Might be easier in the kitchens, Nev," said Harry, quietly. He had exchanged nods with the other members of his team, as well as Susan Bones at the Hufflepuff table. She had tapped her ear, getting a nod from Harry. Her meaning was unmistakable - _We'll talk later_.

"Maybe." Neville replied. He nodded toward Crabbe, who had stood up at this point. "You think it'll work?"

Harry shrugged. "I have to try, mate. If they think they have no choice, they'll fight that much harder." He glanced at his friend. "Think of Watson." That got a nod. The story of Evan Watson was one that had shocked both of them - and Madam Bones, when she had found out.

Crabbe was approaching them now, followed closely by Pansy Parkinson, of all people. Draco Malfoy, alongside Greg Goyle, did not seem to have noticed that their friend had left. When the slytherins got close enough, Harry stepped to the side and gestured them into the entrance hall.

They walked a few paces down the corridor before Crabbe spoke. "Is it true?" he asked, without preamble.

Harry looked at him, considering how to respond. Then he turned to Pansy. "Heiress Parkinson, in accordance with the old ways, House Potter asks you to witness a Parley."

Her eyes grew wide at that, and she paled at the implication. Every pureblood knew what a parley meant, and knew why it was so rare. They learned these rules almost as soon as they could read. Her father had drilled them into her right alongside her lessons on etiquette and magic.

Among all the rules purebloods had to follow, two were more important than any other. "Never get involved in a blood feud." was one. "Never make a blood feud worse." was the other.

 _House Potter was in a blood feud._ She realized. Her eyes darted to her friend, and she saw from his expression that he understood as well. _When? With whom?_

Her eyes went to Potter's friend, and she spoke. "Why would you not ask House Longbottom to witness, Heir Potter?"

"I would be happy to, but for the fact that House Longbottom stands allied with House Potter." Neville gave her a smile, acknowledging the suggestion as a compliment, whether it had been meant that way or not. "It would be improper."

 _Longbottom and Potter,_ she thought. _Merlin. Draco will be furious. Hell, Draco's father will be furious too._ She looked back at Potter, and realized that she really only had one choice. Nodding, she said the ritual words. "House Parkinson will witness the Parley."

Harry smiled at her in thanks, before the smile faded as he turned to Crabbe. Vincent had taken the chance to calm himself as they talked, but still felt the anger welling up inside his chest. His eyes met Potter's, and he spoke again - this time using the formal language of a blood feud he hadn't even known about until minutes prior.

"I would have the truth of this from you, Heir Potter." He said, holding up the black letter.

Harry nodded, sighing. "In the early hours of this morning, I and several others were attacked in the Ministry of Magic. During the fighting, I struck one of my attackers with a cutting curse, and removed his left arm at the shoulder. At the same time, another of my comrades landed a bone breaking curse on the attacker's leg. In the ensuing combat, none of the attackers chose to provide first aid to their fallen, and the man died." Harry's gaze held Vincent's. "The man was your father, Heir Crabbe."

Vincent Crabbe had been insulated, somewhat, from the renewed death eater activity of the past year, as his year was not tasked with anything important at Hogwarts. He knew that that would change this summer, if his father's will were to be done. He had been promised to the Dark Lord's service, after all.

He had not known about any attack. He did not know why Potter had been at the Ministry, why his father was there, why he had attacked Potter. To some of those questions, he would never know an answer beyond _Because the Dark Lord willed it._ But for others…

"You say there is a blood feud between us, but my father told me nothing."

Harry and Neville shared a look. "Yesterday afternoon, House Potter declared a Blood Feud against the House of Gaunt. We swore vengeance against the sons of that house, and vowed to eradicate it from the Earth, root and stem. We promised death to all who swore allegiance to that house, or to its heir."

Pansy spoke up, then. "And the notices?" she asked. She had no part in this, thankfully, but it was not a question Vince knew to ask.

Neville spoke, then. "The proper notices were sent to the Ministry via floo, with the required letter going to the heir of the house via sworn courier. The forms were obeyed." He did not say that the forms were delivered via Madam Umbridge's floo, nor what had happened to Madam Umbridge while that was happening - though he knew he would have no trouble finding a patronus memory after _that_. That the courier was a House Elf, chosen because he had once served the Malfoys, did not even rate a mention.

"I don't know any Gaunts," said Crabbe.

"The last son of the House of Gaunt is the son of Merope Gaunt and a muggle named Tom Riddle." Harry replied. "His birth name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, but these days he is more commonly known by another name."

Pansy understood, now. "No," she whispered. Crabbe's eyes widened at her reaction, not the name - he didn't know.

Harry nodded again. "The last son of the House of Gaunt is Lord Voldemort."

Vincent closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "And when you say those sworn to his service…"

Another nod. "Anyone I see wearing the Dark Mark, I kill."

His eyes went to the notice in his hands. The cold, impersonal language of bureaucrats the world over told him that he was now the Head of House for the Ancient House of Crabbe. The pressure from his father, gone in an instant - things might get better now, if not for him then at least for his mother. _Except for Potter here vowing my death,_ he mused. Vincent glanced at Pansy, and saw the shock still etched into her face at the news that the Dark Lord was a halfblood.

Neville saw Crabbe's shoulders sag, and the boy seemed to deflate. With a glance between the two gryffindors, Crabbe lifted the sleeve of his robes. He bore no dark mark, though they had not expected him to.

He watched as Potter looked closely at his arm, before looking up and meeting his eyes. "Would you like to kill me now, or would you prefer to have a nice supper first?" asked Crabbe, bitterly.

Potter chuckled at that. "I've got nowhere to be, Heir Crabbe, and it's been twenty hours or so since I had a good parley. Let's talk, you and I."

Pansy couldn't resist. "Who was that parley with?"

Potter shared a glance with Longbottom. "Malfoy's dad. Now, to be fair," he shrugged. "He did kind of have a hostage at the time, so it was lacking a certain sense of formality." Even with the weighty topics on offer, Harry could tell that Pansy was amused by his phrasing.

"I see," said Crabbe. _He went toe to toe with Malfoy's dad, and lived. He fought Da, and killed him._ "How many others died last night, Heir Potter?"

A heavy sigh. "Twelve in total."

Vincent shared a look with Pansy. They knew where this was going, for both of them. Crabbe Senior had told Vincent, in no uncertain terms, that he would be marked before the end of July, and thereby dedicated to the Dark Lord's service. He knew that Greg and Draco had similar plans, Greg at the behest of his grandfather and head of house. Draco would take the mark on his own, even if his parents disapproved. _He would have been marked this year had they allowed it,_ he thought.

For Pansy, the pressure came from her uncle, a marked death eater who had tried to recruit her father multiple times. If the pressure grew too great, he might just agree - and if that happened, she would be marked herself or given to one who was.

Standing here now, though, in Potter's presence, hammered home the truth they had always known, deep down, but never dared speak out loud - if they took the mark, they would die.

Somehow, Potter understood what their expressions meant, what that glance had conveyed. "Is it your wish to continue this feud between our houses?" he asked.

Crabbe could not prevent the look of shock that crossed his features. "My father swore our house to his service, Potter." When Harry did not respond, Crabbe found himself raising his voice for the first time. "What would you have me do, Harry?!"

Harry kept his gaze even, and his voice calm. "Walk away."

That, even more than Pansy's gasp, brought him up short. "What?"

Potter shrugged. "My quarrel begins and ends with the Dark Tosser. If you don't take the mark, and if you - as head of house - agree to remain neutral, then the disagreement between our houses is at an end."

oOoOoOoOo

After they ate in the kitchens, Neville walked Harry down to the gate, where he would use his portkey to go to Grimmauld Place and formally meet his parents and brother.

They hadn't talked about the Parley, but Harry could tell that Neville was itching to ask a question. "Spit it out, Nev," said Harry.

Neville grinned. "By your leave, My Lord," he said, formally. Both boys chuckled at that. "I just wondered what you think Crabbe will do."

Harry's pace slowed as he considered that. "I'd bet five galleons that he walks. You were looking at Pansy when I suggested it, but the look in Crabbe's eyes when I offered sanctuary for his mother? That was nothing but relief."

"So he didn't want to be marked?" asked Neville.

Harry nodded. "I don't think so." He smiled, elbowing Neville a bit. "What about Pansy?"

A snort. "What about her?"

"Heir Longbottom, will you be offering Miss Parkinson sanctuary anytime soon?" asked Harry, laughter in his voice.

Neville couldn't help but grin. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows," he recited. "I'll say the same thing you told Susan - nothing for me until the war is over."

"Uh huh." said Harry, unconvinced.

The Longbottom Scion rolled his eyes. "Merlin, Harry, just because I've made commitments to the team doesn't mean I'm _dead_!"

Harry clapped a hand on Neville's shoulder. "That's my brother," he said lightly. Then he remembered, and his expression fell. Neville sensed it, and said nothing. "Shit, I have a brother."

"More than one," said Neville, quietly. "But the one is new, of course."

"Yeah," said Harry, absently. "How the hell do I relate to someone who was apparently raised to replace me?"

"He wasn't, though, was he?" Neville asked. Off Harry's look, he continued. "I mean, he wants to replace the boy who lived, right? Fine, let'em have it." He shrugged. "I'm not standing here because I want to fight alongside the sodding boy-who-lived. I'm here because my brother, Harry Potter, asked me to stand here. No other reason."

Harry gave Neville another clap on his shoulder. "Thanks for that, mate. Thanks for everything. You five, I mean, you got me through this year, you know that right?"

Neville smiled. "I know, Harry. I know it."

They continued down the path to the gates, and the edge of the wards, for a few minutes more. When they reached the line, it was Harry who broke the silence.

"Do you ever think about him, Nev?" Harry asked, quietly.

Neville knew exactly whom Harry meant. "Sometimes." He looked up, taking in the early evening sky. "Named my toad after him, didn't I?"

Harry chuckled. "Always wondered about that."

"Algie got him for me, you know that." said Neville, his voice thick with emotion. "He felt bad for dropping me out of a window. So I named the toad for my long dead twin, to rub his nose in the fact that he almost dropped the Heir Longbottom on his head from four stories."

Harry had never known that he was a twin, but Neville had grown up with that knowledge - and with the knowledge that he would never be with his twin brother, killed the night his parents were tortured into madness. _Killed by Bellatrix,_ thought Harry, darkly. _At least Trevor Lewis Longbottom got some measure of vengeance last night._

"What do I do with them, Neville?" asked Harry.

Neville's answer was immediate. "What you have to, same as always."

oOoOoOoOo

Sirius Black watched as his old friends and their son - their _other_ son - ate a light dinner. James and Lily barely touched their food, though Jamie seemed to be immune to the tension. Sirius had seen Harry eat like that, despite the drama and heartache of last summer.

When asked about it, Harry's answer had given Sirius a lot to think about. "Sometimes you never know when you're going to eat next, so you eat when you can." He had phrased it in the context of soldiers at war, where they didn't know when battle would come for them and had to get what rest and food they could.

The reality was that he could just as easily have been referring to the Dursleys. The thought brought the old anger back to Sirius - for the thought of what Harry had endured truly sickened the Lord Black.

Sitting in his kitchen, watching James and Lily sit there, fighting their nerves, made him begin to wonder how necessary those trials had been. Despite everything, Prongs was his brother in all but blood, and Lily-flower his wife. Jamie, surely, would be an important part of his life.

But Harry was his responsibility. Harry was his godson.

If Harry reacted as he had every right to do, and rejected the Potters - what would he do? What _could_ he do? Nominally, he was the Regent Potter and the Potter Proxy - only nominally, in an effort to keep Harry's acceptance of the Lord's ring under wraps. James was _not_ the Lord Potter - Harry still wore the ring, or had the night prior.

He sipped his coffee and considered the ultimate question, stripping everything else away.

 _If I have to choose, what do I do?_

Across the room, Lily and James were nervously talking about the meeting to come. They were worried enough about their reintroduction to the Order, for they knew that there would be some hard questions - questions that, hopefully, Dumbledore would answer. The existence of Jamie, and the fact that the prophecy includes Harry somehow, would all have to be addressed.

"When Harry is here, we'll make sure we're all on the same page." said James.

"I don't know," said a worried Lily. "You didn't see him, James. I don't think he's who the Headmaster thought he is."

"Honey, I don't…"

"James, he killed Bellatrix Lestrange. He took her head and twisted it and broke her neck, right there in front of me." She sighed, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes. Even after arriving at Sirius' home, she had gotten little rest. "What could we have in common with him, beyond a name?"

James wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulder. "We stand for the light, Potters always do. He'll come around."

Lilly shook her head. "We don't know where he grew up, we don't know what he likes or dislikes, we don't even know who raised him."

James held her closer, glancing up at Sirius - who had been watching him closely. He saw Sirius' eyes flick up to the doorway, and turned around in his seat.

"You know, the muggles have a saying," Harry said, taking a seat midway down the table, between his father and godfather and across from James Junior, who watched him with interest from his seat next to Lily. "They say that you have to play the cards that are on the table."

Kreacher chose that moment to pop in with a mug of coffee, which Harry accepted with a nod.

"So," continued Harry. "Let's lay our cards on the table." He leaned back in his chair, glancing between his father and mother. "Who wants to start?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Special thanks to the Rigel Black discord, and to stories in particular, for naming Neville's long dead twin. In addition to the toad connection, we have Lewis, referring to Matthew Lewis, who played Neville so well on screen. (We also briefly considered using the name of the actor who played Frank Longbottom, but sure enough that was James Payton - so, nyet.)**

 **Vincent Crabbe has always been a bit of an odd character for me. The traditional thinking goes that he went to Slytherin exclusively because his family was dark, or because he convinced the hat that his family would disown him if he went anywhere else. Some stories have him better suited for Hufflepuff, which - when you consider how loyal he ends up being to Malfoy, for the most part - might make sense. I decided to use him here to show Harry taking a tool of the blood purists - the Blood Feud - and using it as his own tool. It gives him options he might have lacked otherwise, and allows him freedom of action - always an important tactical consideration. James might not be too happy, though, but we'll get there. A neutral-ish Pansy can be fun as well - she, too, had to be sorted into Slytherin for something, right?**

 **Notifying students of their parents or grandparents' deaths via mail owl is exactly the sort of bone dead stupid move we've come to expect from the Ministry. But then again, this is the Ministry.**

 **As I've said before, the response to this story continues to amaze. Thank you all.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	5. The Reunion

"So," said Harry. "Let's lay our cards on the table." He leaned back in his chair, glancing between his father and mother. "Who wants to start?"

Harry looked down at his coffee mug, gathering his thoughts as he waited. It was a red ceramic cup with 'Royal Navy' on the side. Colonel Ramsay had given it to him last summer, as both birthday gift and prank. When Harry explained the joke to Sirius, the marauder laughed long and hard - Harry had never set foot on a boat, and (apart from his gillyweed-fueled excursion for the second task) had never even been swimming. Navy material, he wasn't.

The mug was payback for Harry's own gift to the Colonel, that previous Christmas - a Royal Air Force sweater. This was a joke that Sirius got immediately, having briefly met the man, for Colonel Ramsay was notorious for his fear of flying.

Lily and James continued to look at each other, neither one wishing to speak first. For so long they had talked about this moment, about what they would say to their son, lost so long ago. Just two weeks ago, Dumbledore had discussed their all-important first meeting with Harry, and how critical it would be to build trust with the boy. Everything depended on bringing Harry back into the arms of his family, according to the Headmaster.

"You're his father, his Lord and Head of House," Dumbledore had said. "He will have to listen to you."

Now, sitting at the table, it wasn't that simple. The boy sitting there was nothing like what James had expected. He had somehow tamed the Potter hair by cutting it in a short, muggle style. He wore an open burgundy shirt over a white t-shirt, baggy black trousers with many pockets, and black leather boots. And his eyes, the same green as Jamie and Lily, seemed to observe everything.

He had an air of calm assurance, a confidence that made itself felt in every turn of his head, every movement. This was not the tired, weary son he had been told to expect.

The Headmaster had told them some of what Harry had faced, though they had clearly not been told everything. What they knew was that Harry had been given more detentions this year than James had received in seven, and that he had been banned from playing quidditch in part due to his intolerable behavior towards his Defense professor. Harry had been offered lessons in Occlumency, and rejected them after a disagreement with the professor - which allowed Voldemort to enter his mind and set a trap for him at the Ministry.

Dumbledore had known that Harry would fail to protect himself, and visited Falcon's Rest. "It's time," he had said. Jamie would come out from the shadows and take the mantle of boy-who-lived, giving hope to those who would stand against Voldemort.

Jamie played his part well, joining Dumbledore in a duel with the Dark Lord himself, causing him to flee. It was the rescue that went so spectacularly wrong for James and Lily. Harry, it seemed, had needed no rescue - for he had seen the trap, and turned it on the death eaters.

The Auror in James was impressed - had it been old Moody putting them down, he would have had no concerns. But this was his son, his fifteen year old son, amassing a body count already. What went wrong? He wondered. Dumbledore had planned everything, surely he did not neglect a detail like this?

One minute stretched into two, and then three. Presently, Harry set his mug down on the table.

"Let me tell you a story," began Harry. His quiet voice drew everyone's attention. The calm in his voice was startling for its lack of emotion, even though they could all tell how tightly controlled his feelings were. It was important to him to get this right.

"At midnight, on my eleventh birthday," Harry said, "A giant came to me and told me the tale. Big as a house, the man was, with hands that could squash me like a melon. I had never seen anyone like him." He glanced up at James and Lily, before looking back down at his drink. "He told me of my family, a story I had never heard before that day. He told me that they had fought against the darkness, standing firm in the light - but that the Dark Lord had decided to target them. So they fled, hiding in a secret place, hoping against hope that the darkness would not find their hideaway."

"But find them it did, thanks to a brother's betrayal." James noticed Sirius look down at that, his fist clenching. "The father, he stood tall and proud in the face of evil. Wandless and weaponless, he fought, he bled, and quite fearlessly died."

"Then, evil came for the child, for me. And the mother stood in the face of evil, and begged for the life of her son. Three times she traded her life for his, and three times she was rebuffed. Then, the pale wand came up, and green light shot forth, and the mother, too, had died."

Harry looked at them, his expression unreadable. "And then, with that pale wand, the same wand I see when dementors are near, the same wand I dueled against last year, the snake faced man cast the killing curse, and everything went dark."

He paused, taking a deep breath. With his voice barely a whisper, he continued. "So went the story Rubeus Hagrid told me, the day he bought an orphan boy some ice cream at Fortescue's and gave him an owl - the first birthday gift he had ever received, so far as he knew. The day he spoke the four words that changed my life forever. 'You're a wizard, Harry.'" Shaking his head, Harry couldn't help but smile.

James and Lily were hanging on every word, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Even Jamie was upset. The details that caught his attention, though, were not the ones that brought sorrow to the faces of his parents.

"Your eleventh birthday?" he asked.

Harry nodded.

"I don't understand," Jamie said. "How could you grow up in a magical home and not realize you were a wizard?"

For the briefest instant, Harry's face flashed with anger. Just as quickly, it was gone, but Jamie had seen it - after all, he knew that face better than anyone.

"We'll get to that," said Harry, his voice betraying nothing. "For now, I'd like to know what really happened that night fifteen years ago." He looked to his parents.

Sirius watched the emotions play out across the faces of his old friends. Their sorrow at Harry's account, their realization that he hadn't known about magic until he turned eleven, their shame at his question. He could see how close Harry was to losing it - his godson had had to set the coffee mug down, his hand was shaking so. That any of them were holding it together was quite a feat.

When the silence was broken, it was Lily's voice that spoke.

"James was knocked unconscious." she began. "Trapped under debris, and already a bloodied mess, he looked dead to the world. The Dark Lord saw that he was out of the fight, and then ignored him. He woke several hours later when Dumbledore arrived." She wiped her eyes, trying to steady herself. Her eyes went between Jamie and Harry. "I had set up a cluster of runes on your cots that would disillusion you from the view of anyone not of Potter blood. Then I added a shield. I managed to get both clusters charged with Jamie, but ran out of time - you-know-who was coming up the stairs." She looked at Harry. "So I charged only the shield on your cot. But I was too late."

"Maybe not," said Harry. "Whatever you did, it ended up being supercharged when you seemed to give your life. That sort of sacrifice is powerful." He lifted his fringe, showing the scar - now that he realized that it was a rune, the fall of Voldemort made more sense. "I take it you were armored, then?"

She looked puzzled. "Not enough to stop the killing curse. Honestly, I have no idea how I survived." She looked thoughtful, trying to remember the exact runes she had used. "If I was close enough to the cot, and the sacrifice overpowered the shield... " Her voice trailed off, and Harry could not help but smile. This was the Lily Evans he had heard about from Flitwick, McGonagall, and others. She reminded him of Hermione, in that she had found a problem to which she could give her total focus.

"The shield area might have grown if it needed to bleed that power off, Lils," said Sirius. Everyone turned to look at him. "What? I took runes for half a year. I still remember some things." He looked at Lily, who was grinning at him. "Whatever that shield did, it barely worked - when I came and got Harry, you certainly seemed dead. Your hands were cold to the touch, even just a few minutes later."

James spoke, then. "I don't know, Pads. When the Headmaster woke me up, I went and woke her up. By then, Hagrid had taken Harry to Madam Pomfrey, and the entire country was learning that he had somehow defeated the Dark Lord."

Lily's voice was shaking as she spoke. "We took Jamie and went to… our new home." Harry did not miss that she could not name the place - and realized that either it was under the Fidelius and she was not the secret keeper, or that she did not yet trust him with the location. "We planned to come for you when everything settled down, expecting that to be a few weeks, maybe a few months at most."

She looked at Sirius, the tears flowing freely now. "The Headmaster did not allow us to take the Prophet, not once. He said that the owls would reveal us, that there were magical people living there, even if they didn't reveal who those people were. It was too great a risk." Lily said. "He didn't tell us that you had been arrested, that you went to Azkaban."

"It was three months," said James, "before we finally forced him to reveal what had happened. By then, it was too late. Harry, you were hidden behind your wards, with your new family, and we could not come to you without risking Jamie's life too."

Harry looked at him, seeing the anguish on his features. There was certainly regret there, and the man seemed genuine to Harry's eyes. He did not ignore the fact that  
Dumbledore seemed to have kept tight control on the information given to the Potters. He glanced at Sirius, who shook his head. He wasn't ready to discuss the fact that he had spent over a decade in prison accused of charges for which the Potters - or Dumbledore, for that matter - could easily have proved his innocence. Instead, Harry turned back to his parents and asked another question entirely.

"Lord and Lady Longbottom were tortured into insanity by the Lestranges several days after the attack," said Harry. "Frank's mother, Augusta, was able to escape with Neville, all the while thinking that Alice had escaped with Neville's twin brother, Trevor. Alas, she had not." His eyes met those of James. "Trevor died at the end of Bellatrix Lestrange's wand." He glanced over to

Jamie. "Neville and Augusta have carried the weight of that death ever since. Neville, especially, for how else could it be when you lose a twin?"

Jamie saw where this was going. "So why didn't you know about me?" he asked. Harry nodded. "Well, Mom and Dad already knew they were targets before we were born; that's why we were delivered at Potter Manor, where no one would know what happened." He grinned. "Have you had a chance to wonder why my first name is your middle name?"

Harry eyed him questioningly. "Honestly, it's been a busy day."

Jamie chuckled. "Right, well, if there was any parchment that had a James Potter being born, Dad figured that having James as your middle name would confuse people looking for evidence that we made it out, or that I did. So, you got to be Harry James instead of Harry Charlus."

Harry blinked at that, trying to wrap his mind around it. "There's no way wizards would be that stupid."

"Oh, my son," said Lily, causing Harry's eyebrows to raise. "Wizards would be exactly that stupid." Harry gave the line the chuckle it deserved, not mentioning that - by relying so much on Dumbledore's assurances, Lily had fallen into that category as well. The whole plan, as Harry understood it so far, was exactly that stupid.

"Only six people knew that there were twins at all." said James Senior. "Augusta Longbottom, Sirius, Frank and Alice, Andromeda Tonks, and Professor Dumbledore." He shrugged. "When it was decided that we would stay in hiding without you, Augusta and Sirius had their memories modified to erase Jamie. Frank and Alice, well…" After a moment, he looked down sadly. Harry thought the motion was off somehow, before remembering that they probably hadn't known everything about the fate of Neville's parents.

"Andromeda, meanwhile, was the healer who delivered you two boys," James continued. "She stayed our healer while we were in hiding, sworn to secrecy."

Sirius laughed at that. "You mean Andy knew this whole time?"

A nod. "And you have no idea how many times she begged us to tell you what had happened, Padfoot. But we couldn't, otherwise everything we were doing, everything Harry was doing, would be for nothing."

oOoOoOoOo

Harry let that sit for a moment before speaking again. "Right, let's talk about that for a moment. What, exactly, was I supposed to be doing while you were in hiding?"

Another look was exchanged between the Potters. It was Lily who spoke again, her voice still somewhat shaky. "The whole of the wizarding world knew that you, Harry, had been the one to defeat the Dark Lord. If you disappeared, it would be noticed. Meanwhile, we had died trying to save your life - if we showed up, out of the blue, why would your guardians trust us to take you home? Witches and wizards believe that what they know to be true is the truth; to tell them, after years, that everything they knew about that night was a lie? It wasn't an option."

"So, while we went into hiding, you were protected and cherished, taught about your place as a son of House Potter, and shown the magic that you would need to protect yourself." James looked confused, as if he was processing what Harry had said earlier. "Harry, why would Hagrid be the one to tell you about us?"

Harry stared at him, his mouth open. Then he looked at Lily, who had also adopted a puzzled look. Jamie, for his part, looked horrified. He seems to have figured it out.

"Sirius, they don't know." He looked over at his godfather, whose face was a mask of worry for his godson. "They really don't know." Sirius reached over and put a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder.

James watched the exchange, growing annoyed. "Jamie said that you were friendly with Amelia Bones, did you stay with her? She was our friend, even though she was in her seventh year during our first. You would have been well taken care of."

Harry sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I imagine I would have been, yes. Madam Bones has never played me false." Harry looked his father in the eye. "The day after the attack, I was taken in a basket and placed on the doorstep of one Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

James stared at him, gaping, while Lily placed a hand on her mouth. Jamie looked puzzled. "I'm not familiar with House Dursley," he said, struggling to remember the names of magical families that he had had to memorize so long ago.

Harry shook his head. "They are not House Dursley, brother. They're just the Dursleys, or Aunt and Uncle if you have the misfortune of being in their presence. Petunia is our mother's sister. They live at 4 Privet Drive, Surrey - or, as Sirius and I call it, Durzkaban." He looked again at his parents. "You really didn't know?"

James shook his head, weakly. Lily's face told the tale, such was the horror etched into her features. She knew exactly the sort of childhood Harry must have had, for she had gotten a taste of it from the moment her letter had arrived.

"Well, I grew up as their servant, doing all of the chores in the house, and getting punished for every failure." His expression grew colder as he spoke; Harry really hated bringing up his relatives' treatment of him, but knew that these people, of all people, had to know what had been done. "I didn't know my own name until I went to school, and politely told the teacher that my name was "freak" when she asked why I hadn't responded to the roll call."

"Ten years, I labored, thinking my parents had been drunks who got themselves killed in a car wreck. But then the accidental magic started happening. Then they really started to hate me." Harry shook his head again, before sipping his coffee. "Suffice it to say, those were not good years."

"I'll kill her," said Lily, quietly. James almost stood up to go handle the task that instant.

"No," said Harry, shocking James with the strength of the single word. It was the voice of command, a voice that wouldn't be out of place in a lead auror.

"We're here now," said Jaime. "We can make them regret their actions, see that it never happens again." He smiled at his mother, patting her hands with his own. "Think how your sister would react when you show up on her doorstep, mom." To his credit, his words did bring a bit of a smile to Lily.

"We could, yes." Harry agreed. "But we can do that whenever we wish. I, for one, will never willingly stoop to the level of the Dursleys. Those people have no control over me."

"Then, why…?"

"Why not go after them? Because, Jamie, my list of enemies is quite long enough, thank you." Harry smiled at the ones who should have raised him. "I have years worth of evidence, along with witnesses who live or lived nearby. All of them will testify if given the chance. When Voldemort has been dealt with, when the death eaters are in the ground, then we can give the Dursleys their due. But not before." He sat back, looking at his mother. "She told me that what I am is freakish, unnatural. If we use magical means to bring them to justice, they will dismiss it as more of our freakishness. No, they pride themselves on being perfectly normal. So we will let the perfectly normal courts and constables handle them."

"Are they at risk of attack, you think?" asked James. Then his expression darkened. "You think the death eaters will handle them for you."

Harry shook his head, bothered not by the accusation, but that it had been made in the first place. "No, I really don't. The idea that they would have been protected if only they showed me love has a certain poetry to it, but no I will not condemn civilians to death if it can be avoided."

"Protected?" asked Lily.

"The Headmaster told me that your death via a willing sacrifice had created a protection over me, one that he used to power a series of highly-illegal blood wards at the Dursley's home." He sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. "I was told that I had to remain in that house every summer to recharge the wards, else they would fall and I would be unprotected."

Lily looked confused as she considered that. "But I didn't die. How could that work?"

Harry chuckled. "I asked myself the very same thing just this morning. One of many items I plan to discuss with our esteemed Headmaster, if and when."

oOoOoOoOo

"The question is this," said Sirius. All four Potters turned to look at him. Of the four, the only expression Sirius noticed was Harry's quiet nod of approval. He had been exonerated the month prior, at his godson's behest and after much discussion between Harry and Madam Bones. The paperwork had been slipped past the Minister's staff, and he had signed it without reading it. Not the maneuver one would expect of a Hufflepuff - which was part of why Amelia did it that way.

It had taken some time for Sirius to adjust to freedom. But adjust he had. It was not Padfoot sitting there asking for guidance, but the Lord Black providing guidance of his own.

His question cut to the heart of matters. "What do we do now?"

The words hung in the air, as they considered it. The Order would be arriving before long, and the Potters would be revealed to their allies old and new alike. The plan, too, would come out tonight - part of why Harry had been invited.

After the discussion of this past half hour, though, Lily wasn't so sure about the plan anymore. Her Jamie, however, was ready.

"We defeat Voldemort." Jamie said, simply.

Harry chuckled. "Just so?"

Jamie shrugged. "He ran last night, we could defeat him if we worked together."

Harry shook his head. "He was stalling, waiting for the team he sent after me. When he didn't see Bella and Lucius come out, he knew they had failed." His eyes got a faraway look. "When he's really fighting, you'll know."

The question came before he could stop himself. "Why," Jamie asked. "Have you fought him before?"

Harry again blinked at his brother. "Dumbledore told you nothing, didn't he?"

James answered that one. "He told us what we needed to know. More than that, and we would have wanted to come back too soon."

Yes, because keeping secrets works so well for the Potters, Harry thought, bitterly.

"Right, well," said Harry. "I've fought Voldemort four times. Five if you count the time he tried to kill me during a quidditch match, which I don't."

"Really?" asked Jamie, clearly unbelieving.

Harry nodded. "1981, obviously. Then again in first year, when his wraith possessed our DADA professor. I managed to kill him with my bare hands and some luck. The next year, a diary with some of his memories made its way into the school, and I killed it too - after slaying a sixty-foot basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. Last year, I was kidnapped and forced to take part in a ritual that resurrected Voldemort in a human-ish form. After that, I dueled him to a standstill, before escaping via portkey with the body of the student who got taken with."

Jamie looked at his brother with amazement in his eyes, and surprise. He had been told that he would be the one trained to protect his brother, but it seemed that Harry had had training of his own. He looked forward to showing his younger brother what he could do in the dueling ring.

Lily had paled at the mention of a wraith. Harry didn't notice it, but Sirius did - and the marauder wondered exactly what she knew.

James Senior, for his part, looked thoughtful. "A diary, you say?"

Harry nodded. "He placed part of himself into it as a fifth year, just after he killed Myrtle Warren. The diary tried to take over a first year girl, in hopes of being reborn. I stabbed the thing with a basilisk fang."

"...and it screamed at you with Voldemort's voice, before dying." finished James. Harry stared at his father - it was the first time he had heard the man use the Dark Lord's name.

He knew about the scream. Harry's eyes narrowed. "You know what it was."

James nodded. "The Headmaster and I destroyed another artifact of that type a month ago. It was an old ring. We found it in a shack owned by the Gaunts, near Little Hangleton."

"Horcruxes," said Sirius. Everyone turned to him, and saw his look of horror. "He made horcruxes."

"Three of them, Padfoot." replied James. "If the diary was one, then that's two down. We just need the third."

Harry's thoughts went back to the days just before Christmas break, and the vision he had had of the attack on Mister Weasley. Before he even realized it, he answered the question. "It's the snake," he said. Off their looks, he explained his role in getting help to the fallen Mister Weasley, and how he had known what had happened.

"It could be," said James. Again, Sirius' eyes were drawn to Lily and her troubled expression. Something important was being left unsaid, he thought. They would have to speak later; with the Potters staying in his home for now, he would have plenty of opportunity for such a talk.

"So we have to kill his snake, before we kill him," said Harry. Again, James nodded. "Alright, I can work with that."

"We can work with that, you mean." said Jamie. Harry turned to him, realizing what he meant.

"Maybe," was his reply. Taking the scroll from his pocket, he laid it flat on the table. "It depends."

"Depends?" asked Lily. "On what?"

Harry grinned. "On whether you believe this prophecy is a crock of shite or not."

oOoOoOoOo

James and Lily stared at him. Jamie, having seen him hold the prophecy orb at the Ministry, knew some of what was coming. He also knew why his parents were so stunned - much of his life had been shaped by the notion that this prophecy required him to be the one to kill the Dark Lord, and none other. His training had been focused on that end. He had grown up with this heavy purpose never far from his mind.

Now, with two of the three anchors gone, the time was now. Or so he had thought.

Harry took in the looks on his parents faces, before tapping his finger on the scroll. "We'll need to go over this prophecy sometime, because it really does control everything, doesn't it? It's why you came to rescue me at the Ministry. I thank you for the gesture, by the way, though it turned out to be unnecessary." His fingers continued to tap lightly on the table. "Jamie, meanwhile, thanked me for protecting him while he trained to be the boy-who-lived." His brother seemed suddenly uncomfortable under the gaze of his parents, who looked annoyed at his comment. Harry continued. "I'm just wondering where we go from here."

"What do you mean?" asked a very cautious Lily.

Harry looked at her, his eyes narrowing. "There are a few problems we have to address, I think, if we - the five of us - are to move forward as a family."

Sirius looked shocked. "Pup?" he began.

"Sirius, until a day ago, you and the Colonel were my only real family. Any decision about my future, now that my birth family is back in my life, will involve you. Whatever happens, that's never going to change." Harry gave his godfather a grin. "You're stuck with me, Padfoot."

The marauder could do little else - he stood up and went to his godson. Lily and James watched their hug, and saw the emotion there. Both were genuinely happy that Padfoot had been there for Harry, if only briefly.

Jamie, meanwhile, wondered who the Colonel was, exactly.

Stepping back, Sirius placed his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'll always be proud of you, kid." His face went passive for a moment, a look that Harry knew meant something to do with the wards. "The others are beginning to arrive. I'm going to take them downstairs. If you'll excuse me?" With an exaggerated bow, Sirius Black left the dining room. The click of the locks told them that their privacy would be respected, even if an order member tried to enter.

"Downstairs?" asked Jamie.

Harry chuckled as he took his seat. "Rather than kicking us out, Sirius had Kreacher set up a table in the training room we have in the basement. Plenty of room down there."

James grinned at that. "And a convenient open space, for when your mother begins hexing Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded. "We may have considered that, yes." he looked at his mother. "He treated you like mushrooms too, didn't he?" Jamie looked puzzled, and Harry laughed. "He kept you in the dark and fed you shite."

The grin faded from his father's face. "We owe the Headmaster a great deal, Harry."

Harry's face fell. After hearing what they had known, and - more importantly - what they had not, Harry had been hopeful that they might be objective about the Headmaster. Debts, though, could be powerful things, and James seemed like the sort of man who would want to pay his debts. If he felt he owed the Headmaster, he'd do as he was told. Not good, thought Harry.

The burgundy shirt came off of Harry's shoulders, leaving him in only a t-shirt. He spoke as he removed the shirt, playing it off as simply being too warm.

"We have had very different experiences with the Headmaster, sir." said Harry, his voice cold. "But this is what I know. First, he received a prophecy that said a child born at the end of July would vanquish the Dark Lord. It could be argued that this has already happened - the Dark Lord was indeed vanquished, in part by a child born as the seventh month dies. Do we dispute that, no. Whether the prophecy is even active is a topic for another day."

"But, on the assumption that the prophecy was still in force, Dumbledore caused the Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter to abandon the Heir Secondary. In doing so, said Heir was placed with abusive muggles and left to rot for a decade."

"Surely, they were not loving," said James. "But abuse? I doubt Dumbledore would allow it."

Harry said nothing. Instead, he removed his t-shirt. As the shirt was pulled over his head, he heard the gasps from his mother and brother - they saw the scars. Standing, Harry turned slowly, allowing them to see the evidence of the Dursley's care and concern. The scratches on his forearms from thorns and thistles while gardening. The scars from Vernon's belt. The red F and R on his back, where Dudley and his pals had held Harry down and tried to carve "Freak" into his flesh.

That had been the only time that Petunia actually punished Dudley. Needless to say, it didn't take.

"Dumbledore had someone watching the Dursleys, and me. Either he was aware of the conditions in which a son of the House of Potter was kept, or he was willfully ignorant of the care a child for whom he was responsible was receiving. Either action is not that of someone friendly to the interests of House Potter." Harry pulled the t-shirt back on, but remained standing. His eyes caught those of his mother, and he saw tears there once more.

oOoOoOoOo

"His conduct as Headmaster has been…. wanting, for lack of a better term. But let's stick to recent events." Harry placed his right hand flat on the table, allowing the Potters to see the scar on the back of his hand. Both had the decency to look appalled. Jamie stood up to see, and cringed.

The scar was writing, in Harry's messy scrawl. "I will know my place," Jamie read quietly. Merlin.

"Dumbledore allowed the Ministry to place an Undersecretary as the Defense professor. The woman accused me of lying about Voldemort, despite the fact that I had made no public statements on that subject. She gave me detention after detention, during which I was made to write lines with a fucking blood quill." Harry's anger threatened to come forth, now, and he fought it down.

"The man to whom we owe so much was the one who allowed this. His staff, acting on his authority, advised me to keep my head down. No reports were made to the DMLE until Madam Bones saw the seeping bandage on my hand one day."

"I don't believe it," said James, quietly. Not quietly enough, for Harry let out a sad chuckle at the phrase.

"These facts are not in dispute, whether you believe them or not." said Harry, his voice steady once more. "I have been beaten, threatened, poisoned, stabbed, and made to take part in a dark ritual to resurrect the man I thought had killed my entire family. Then, after a year of literal torture, committed by a government agent in her official capacity, and abetted by the staff of the school, I have that same man try to get me killed by violating the sanctity of my mind."

Harry shook his head, his voice growing colder still. "My whole life, Voldemort has done his level best to destroy me, and yet HERE I REMAIN!" James and Lily jumped a bit at his shouted declaration, and at the anger behind it, but Jamie just stared at him.

Taking his seat, Harry let out a deep sigh. "Voldemort must die. I can do little else until that is accomplished." He looked back to his father. "My question is this - what are your intentions, sir?"

oOoOoOoOo

James, too, stared at his son. "What do you mean?"

"Simply this - I swore an oath to destroy Voldemort, and all who swear allegiance to him. Root and stem, I believe the phrasing went." He watched his father carefully, but it was his mother who got it first. They said she was smart, he mused. To James, he continued. "Will you stand with me in that fight?"

"Obviously, Voldemort has to die." said James. "The Headmaster says that…"

Harry cut him off. "I didn't ask about the Headmaster. I asked about you and your plans." he pointed at Jamie, who was still staring at him, wondering what would happen next. "Jamie here says that he is to be declared the boy-who-lived. Personally, he's welcome to it. It's just words - words, I might add, that appear exactly nowhere in this stupid prophecy."

"But make no mistake, sir, Voldemort declared war on our House. Yesterday, I took steps to answer him. The twelve dead death eaters were just the beginning." Harry watched James intently.

James met his gaze, and tried his best to sound disappointed - but twelve dead death eaters, even at his son's hand, would never upset him too much. "The Potters are not murderers, Harry."

Harry stood his ground. "A madman is fighting an armed insurrection against the rightful government of Wizarding Britain. Killing terrorists is not murder, under any international standard you choose, magical or muggle."

"Dumbledore will not approve."

Harry shrugged. "That's unfortunate." He leaned forward in his seat, his voice dripping with venom. "But Albus Fucking Dumbledore is not a member of House Potter. If you plan to listen to him above all others, sir, then I might as well hand him the Lord's ring and have done."

Such was the anger rising in James that he missed that comment. Lily, however, shared a glance with Jamie, who had also noticed the reference to the Lord's ring - and who would be doing the handing over of it. Holy shit, thought Jamie.

"I am your father, you will listen to me." The anger was in James' voice, now, and Harry's voice rose to match it.

"I will happily accept your oh so learned counsel," said Harry, with only a hint of sarcasm. "But if your advice is going to be 'do whatever Dumbledore says,' then I'm going to ask you to fold that advice until it's all corners, take it in your left hand, and-"

"Alright! That's enough! Both of you!" Lily's shouted warning stopped the two in their tracks. After a moment, Harry took the opportunity to stand. Pulling on his burgundy shirt, he looked at James.

"I've sworn to end Voldemort. If you don't plan to assist me in that, then stay the hell out of my way."

James stood as well. "This is bigger than you," he said, bitterly.

Harry chuckled, letting the tension fall away. "Oh, James Potter, you have no idea how right you are." With that, Harry walked towards the doorway. "I'll see you downstairs." And with that, he was gone.

Lily looked at James. James looked back at Lily. Both turned toward Jamie when he finally spoke.

"Dad?" he asked. "What the FUCK just happened?"

After a moment, James looked at him. "He called me sir, that's what happened."

"James?" asked Lily.

"He called me Sir." James shook his head, sadly. "Not once did he call me 'father' or 'dad'. Hell, he was distant enough to you that he may as well have called you 'Madam Potter'." He looked at his son. "Now, Jamie, he accepted - he called you brother several times. But your mother and I? No."

"Oh, oh my God," said Lily, her voice trembling once more. Stress, fatigue, emotion, all of them came out in those four words. Lily Potter seemed to collapse in on herself. Only James caught her whispered question, and even then he wished he hadn't - for he had asked himself the same question.

"What have we done?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Many threads here. Some details will be addressed in the next chapter, with the Order of the Phoenix and their meeting with the Potters. Others, we'll get to. Many stories of this type have the twin against Harry, or the Parents against the sons, or what have you. At this point, I'm not convinced that the Potters themselves are 100% on team Potter. All of them have had quite a shock, and it will take time for them to work through everything.**

 **Harry knows what happens when you fight a war on multiple fronts. That thought will govern a lot of his actions moving forward.**

 **Thank you to Grimjaw for taking a read through this chapter for me. Your changes were a great improvement.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	6. The Order

Harry Potter fought to calm himself down as he dried his hands. He looked up at the bathroom mirror, thankful that it was not one of the enchanted mirrors that offers comments on your appearance and hygiene. Harry knew that he would have put a fist through one of those mirrors, such was his mood.

He was _angry_. Angrier than he had expected to be, and he had known going in that he'd be angry by the end of the meeting.

Nearly everything he had done - taking up the Lordship (and everything that came with it), training with his team and with Colonel Ramsay, working with Madam Bones, even declaring the blood feud - all had been aimed at giving himself options. Oh, he phrased it as "Strategic Thinking" but the reality was that he was tired of others directing his life.

James Potter telling him to listen? James Potter trying to control him? About the only worse thing the man could have said was that he wore the dark mark. _Who the hell does he think he is?_

He knew the answer, of course. _He thinks he is Lord Potter._ No dead man could be a Lord, however, certainly not of an Ancient and Most Noble House. _So,_ Harry thought, as he willed his breathing to slow. _Did James assume he remained Lord? Or did someone tell him that he remained Lord?_

Without thinking, Harry reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out his necklace. He ran his fingers over the small metal discs, each engraved by Colonel Ramsay. Even without looking, he would know the text backwards and forwards.

POTTER, HARRY J  
LORD, A&MNH POTTER  
31 JULY 1980  
GRYFFINDOR

 _Colonel Ramsay watched as the young man paced the length of his study. This boy…. No, this man, had been his student for almost six years now. He had started as an abused, weak little boy, unsure of himself and cringing at the slightest provocation - but with a thirst for knowledge and a determination to bend the direction of his life toward something more._

 _He had taught the boy as best he could. School subjects, at first, but those quickly lost their challenge. So he turned to his own discipline, and found in Harry Potter an eager student. Strategy, tactics, history - he taught them all._

 _Then, last summer, he had a visit from the PM's office - and suddenly, some of the details that never added up made sense. Harry didn't go to a secretive boarding school in Scotland, he went to a wizarding academy of some sort, hidden away from the rest of the world. He was a wizard, the noble son of a witch and a wizard._

 _It had finally come out, the events of June. The tournament he had been forced into, the duel in the graveyard. If he hadn't known Harry's true background, then he would have found it impossible to understand his student's rage. Ramsay tried to focus Harry's attention on what he had done right - especially his escape - but his mind kept going back to his fallen friend._

" _Kill the spare, he had said. And just like that," Harry snapped his fingers. "Cedric was a corpse." He reached the end of the room, and turned around. "And I couldn't stop it."_

 _Ramsay's eyes went to the letter on his coffee table - the one with the strange "G" symbol across the top in gold leaf. A change of subject was warranted, Ramsay thought. So he brought up the letter that had started Harry's thoughts down this path. "And this bank wants what from you?"_

 _Harry did not look over. "They said that I need to take my place as a Lord." He laughed bitterly. "Like they'd let a fourteen year old kid become a Lord."_

" _They might not have a choice, Harry," said Ramsay. "If this letter is right, then you've been declared an adult. That gives you options."_

 _The boy scoffed. "The Ministry would never allow it. This is someone trying to take what little I have. It has to be." He shook his head. "No. I'm stuck where I am, right up until I hit 17."_

" _And then?"_

" _And then I'm gone, sir. There's nothing for me here. Nothing but friends who won't even write back to me, teachers who won't listen to me, and a dead man who stole my blood to rise again, complete with a legion of his bootlickers who will stop at nothing to deliver me to his feet." Harry let out a sad chuckle, then. "You know, some of them even have kids in my year at school? Who knows, maybe they'll just tell their children to toss me off a tower?"_

 _Ramsay shook his head, analyzing what he was hearing. "This doesn't sound like the student I knew last summer."_

 _That brought Harry up short. Then he stood up straight, and addressed himself to the Colonel. "Sir, I've examined my tactical options, and found them…. inadequate. My best choice is to withdraw, sir."_

" _Indeed," said Ramsay, thoughtfully. "What does a commander do when he has nothing but bad options, Harry?"_

 _Harry looked down. "He gets better ones, sir."_

" _Right." said Colonel Ramsay. Then he held up the Gringotts' letter. "Here the bank is offering you a better option. Say you go hear them out - hell, I'll even take you - and it ends up that you aren't emancipated, and can't actually take up the Lordship. What happens?"_

 _Harry looked at the Colonel, realization dawning in his eyes. "Nothing."_

" _So," Ramsay continued. "You have an option here that costs you nothing but a few hours of your time. At worst, I buy you a nice lunch. But at best, you gain resources that could potentially change the entire strategic picture." He narrowed his eyes at his student. "I taught you better than that, Mister Potter."_

 _Now Harry was grinning. "Yes, Sir."_

Harry chuckled to himself as he thought back to that meeting. The goblins had shown the Colonel the sort of respect that one soldier shows to another, which surprised the muggle and amused the wizard. Goblins respect warriors, as it turns out.

The identification tags (" _Don't call them dog tags, Harry,"_ the Colonel had said) were his birthday gift that year. The Colonel had gone to great pains to explain the meaning of what he had chosen for the engraving.

" _Your Lordship is the closest thing you have for a rank, so it has pride of place next to your name. You don't have a serial number or anything, so your birthdate and your school house go next." Ramsay slid each tag onto the thin metal chain. Then he reached into his shirt, revealing his own tags. "My tags are a constant reminder of the oath I took, so many years ago, to bear faith and true allegiance to the crown. And a true allegiance is unwavering. Whatever my schedule says, I am never off duty as far as my oath is concerned."_

 _He extended his hands, placing the chain on Harry's neck. The twin metal tags clinked together lightly as they settled. Harry took them in his hands, looking closely at the text, as Ramsay continued. "Think back to that oath you took at Gringotts, when they gave you that gold ring. These tags are a reminder - your Lordship isn't a uniform that comes off and on. It's always with you. You're always Lord Potter."_

Harry took another steadying breath, before looking his reflection in the eye. The anger was still there, burning in his chest - but he felt calm about it, detached. He did not let his anger control him, for he could not afford to - the mission was more important.

He smiled to himself, putting the necklace on and letting the tags settle underneath his shirt. He was ready.

Harry heard the handle on the bathroom door jiggle slightly, followed by a short knock. He had lost track of time. Opening the door, he found his brother standing there, waiting.

"Jamie," Harry said, quietly. "Room's all yours." He waited for his brother to step aside and allow him past, but Jamie just stood there.

"Umm, are you alright, Harry?" he asked quietly. It was as if he had no idea what to say - or how he would be received.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of his brother, either. Just now, his anger was aimed mostly at his parents, and at the Headmaster. Once the Order meeting began, though? All bets were off.

They looked at each other for a moment, before Harry broke the silence. "I will be," He said, just as quietly. The house was filling with Order members, and it would not do to give them cause to whisper.

Jamie seemed to realize where they were, and finally stepped aside. "Right, see you in a bit then." Harry just nodded as he walked past, letting Jamie into the loo.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry walked down the stairs to the basement, and saw that Sirius had outdone himself.

In years past, the expansive space underneath 12 Grimmauld Place had been used as a ritual room, before being converted into a storage space after most of the more interesting rituals had been outlawed by the Ministry. That didn't mean that the House of Black stopped doing those rituals, of course, merely that they stopped doing them so close to the Ministry itself. Old Walburga would never have allowed a training room in her home, and so the space went largely unused.

When he took possession of the house, Sirius cleared out the basement. He didn't have a firm plan for the space, but just wanted the rubbish out of his house. At Harry's request, Sirius had had a conversation with Colonel Ramsay about building a muggle weight room for physical training while Harry was cooped up in the house at Dumbledore's orders. That led him to describe the basement - Sirius hadn't known what sort of space they would need for whatever muggle idea Harry and the Colonel had cooked up.

When Ramsay had noted that the basement was long enough to house a small firing range (and, later, after he had explained to Sirius just what the hell a firing range was), the two had come up with a better idea.

What amused Harry about having the meeting in the basement was that Sirius had left almost all of their training equipment in place. A rack along one wall held wooden staffs, bamboo training swords, and other practice weapons. A display case held several actual weapons, including a sinister-looking cutlass forged of black steel that had been a gift to some Lord Black centuries ago. Muggle weights, as well as other exercise equipment, was tucked into the far corner of the room.

A cooling cabinet was located near the stairs, filled with bottles of juice and water, as well as butterbeer. The first time Sirius had summoned Dobby for a drink while Harry was working out, it had taken a whole day to calm the poor little elf down - he had almost stunned Sirius, thinking that Master Harry, Sirs, was under attack. Thus, when the two were down here exercising, Dobby could give them a wide berth, knowing that they would not lack for refreshments.

The ritual circle etched into the floor had been removed, only to be replaced with the more common warded circle of a dueling ring. A goblin artisan had installed ICW regulation dueling wards, and had earned his substantial fee. Harry chuckled as he saw that the large round table was placed at the exact center of the dueling area - they would see how appropriate that was before long.

The wooden dummies at one end of the room still stood, several showing evidence of knife and spell strikes. No one was brave enough to ask why one of the dummies was sporting a pink sweater and hat, nor why the face had been painted a light green.

The table itself was quite a bit more spacious than the Order was accustomed to, seeing as they did not need to squeeze into the dining room. Even then, this meeting would be more well-attended than most, and space was at a premium.

Everyone, it seemed, wanted to know just what the hell had happened at the Ministry.

Dumbledore was already there, and gave Harry a cautious nod as the gryffindor walked down the stairs. Harry acknowledged the greeting, before grabbing two bottles of water. He picked up a wooden stool from the corner, and walked over to the Weasleys. Setting the stool down, he had barely had a chance to greet Bill and Arthur before Molly had enveloped him in a hug.

"We were so worried, dear," she began. Harry patted her on the back, before pulling away. Molly looked him up and down, as if checking for injuries. "Saint Mungo's called us, but by the time we got there, Ron and Ginny had left. Are they...?"

Harry nodded. "Barely scratched, Mrs. Weasley. They're fine. We're all fine."

Bill watched the exchange, nodding. "Sometime, Harry, you'll have to tell us what exactly happened last night."

Harry gave a shrug. "I'll bet they get me talking about it tonight. If I don't answer your question now, I will soon, alright?" Bill nodded. Seeing another member he needed to speak with, Harry sat his water on the stool. "Excuse me a moment."

He walked around the table carrying the second bottle of water, past the Headmaster, who was talking quietly with Dedalus Diggle on his left, and past three very ominously empty seats to his right. From the next seat Alastor Moody gave him a nod as well, and Harry returned the greeting with a hand on the Auror's shoulder. Moody had seen the training room before, and approved. He had even stopped by a few times and given Sirius a workout, helping the younger man get himself back into 'fighting trim', as he had called it.

Harry's target was in the next chair. The distance between Moody and Severus Snape was noticeably larger than the norm, as was the space between the potions master and Hestia Jones, on his right. As Snape saw him approach, his face twisted into its usual sneer. Before the professor could speak, Harry made a show of setting the bottle of water on the table in front of Snape. As he leaned forward, he spoke quietly.

"In a few moments, you're going to be very angry." He said, simply. Snape's customary insults froze on his tongue. Harry turned his head, and looked Snape in the eye. "You're going to want to either storm out or pull your wand, or both."

"What are you babbling about, Potter?" asked Snape.

Harry shook his head. "Whatever happens, you must remain seated and quiet. No matter what."

Another sneer. "What do you know about it?"

Harry leaned closer, one hand on the table, and spoke for Snape's ears only. "I know that if you leave this meeting in a snit, then you won't be asked back. And that will only help the Dark Lord's cause."

Snape paled slightly, but kept what composure he had. "You have no idea what-"

"Yes, I do. And very soon, so will you." Harry stood up, but kept his voice quiet. "I know where your loyalties lie, Professor. Tonight, they're going to be sorely tested. Keep your Slytherin wits about you, sir. You'll need them." Before Snape could respond, Harry was walking back to his stool. He did not see the Professor's angry glare, nor did he notice the questioning glance from Dumbledore.

Sitting down, he took a sip of his water. Bill Weasley shared a look with his father, before leaning back in his chair. "What was that, Harry?"

Instead of answering, Harry gestured with his free hand. "How many empty seats does the Headmaster have next to him, Bill?"

"Three, why?" Bill said, puzzled.

Harry nodded. "Remember that number." He looked from Bill to Arthur, who had been listening in on the conversation. "Once summer starts, if it's not too much trouble, I'd like to come by and have a talk with you both, if that's alright."

Arthur answered. "Of course, Harry, you're family. You know that, right?"

Harry allowed himself a smile. "I'm starting to, yeah. Thanks, Mister Weasley." Before Arthur could say anything else, Dumbledore began to speak.

oOoOoOoOo

After Dumbledore called the meeting to order, he began to talk about the sacrifices they all had made in the fight against Voldemort. About the friends and family lost, the scars, the injuries, all of it. To Harry's ear, the Headmaster could not decide whether to give a pep talk or a eulogy - and it was clear from the faces of the members that they weren't sure, either.

"Thankfully, some of our absent friends are not as lost as we once feared." With that, the group heard footsteps on the old wooden stairs, and turned. Dumbledore gestured to the staircase, a smile on his face. "My friends, allow me to welcome back James and Lily Potter, and their son James, Junior!"

Harry, knowing it was coming, had his eyes on the Order, rather than the Potters. Most of the members were stunned into silence, too surprised even to question the revelation. That Dumbledore had made the announcement reassured them that it was no trick - for who could fool Albus Dumbledore with such a ruse?

At that thought, Harry's eyes went to Moody, who looked unsurprised. He, and the other aurors, had probably been briefed by Madam Bones.

Severus Snape, on the other hand, was oscillating between shock and incandescent rage. Lily saw the look on her old friend's face, and grew worried. _That would not be a pleasant conversation_ , thought Harry. He saw Snape turn his eyes toward him, and answered the look with a nod. Snape inclined his own head, before turning away.

When the Potters walked to their seats, they did so by walking past Snape, who was now carefully examining the wood grain of the table. James took his seat at Dumbledore's right hand, just as Harry had expected. Jamie took the next seat, with Lily sitting next to Moody.

In returning the Potters to the wizarding world, Dumbledore had not just brought in a new Boy-Who-Lived. He had also recruited a new second in command whose loyalty would be to Dumbledore alone. That he also had close ties to the Lord Black was merely a bonus. Harry found himself wishing that he had guessed wrong about the Headmaster's plans.

As the shock of the moment passed, several of the members began glancing at Harry. Most noticed that he had seated himself apart from his family, though no one quite knew why. As the Potters took their seats, Bill leaned back and spoke quietly. "You knew?" he asked.

Harry nodded. "They were at the ministry."

"Ah," was the reply. Bill shared a glance with his parents, who were looking at Harry with concern. "You alright?"

Another nod. "I will be, yeah." Before Bill could reply, Dumbledore was introducing the Potters.

"Fifteen long years, these three remained in hiding," he said. "Training their son, Jamie, for the day when he would come forth and vanquish the Dark Lord."

"Why did they hide away?" asked one of the members that Harry didn't know. A few others muttered at this.

He looked around the table. "There was a prophecy given in the summer of 1980. It said that the one who would vanquish the Dark Lord would be born at the end of the seventh month, and that he would have a power the Dark Lord knows not." Dumbledore gestured to Jamie, and then Harry. "Until that day in 1981, we did not know which boy it would be. Then Voldemort attacked. And on that day, he was vanquished by Harry Potter."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that - apparently, Dumbledore had abandoned the notion of making Jamie the boy-who-lived. _But why mention the prophecy, then?_

Dumbledore continued. "The magic unleashed that night was not enough to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all. There were signs that he would return, for those who could see. So, James and Lily made the hardest decision of their lives. They went into hiding, taking the older child and leaving the younger - Harry - in my care."

"Why not take both of them?" asked Molly. Dumbledore's expression fell at that, for she had used her legendary "Howler" voice - one that several of the people in that room had had the misfortune of hearing up close and in person. She was angry, and Harry could not help but be honored that she was angry on his behalf.

"The country already knew what Harry had done, and what it had cost. He was already safely in hiding, protected from any who would wish him harm." Harry was proud that he did not scoff at that statement. "The remaining Potters were believed dead. Revealing them - and the existence of a second son - would have wasted their sacrifice."

Harry saw Professor Snape close his eyes. The hand he had been resting on the table clenched into a fist. Harry recalled the memories he had seen in the pensieve, all those months ago, and the argument he had had with the Professor that night. He glanced at Dumbledore, who had not noticed his spy's reaction to this news, and shook his head. _Dumbledore knows exactly how cruel it was to drop this on Snape in a public meeting,_ Harry thought. _Did he even care?_

To his left, Harry noticed Remus leaning over to speak with Sirius, and Sirius give a short, sharp shake of his head. If Sirius had not been ready to discuss his imprisonment with the Potters, then he certainly wouldn't want to discuss it here in front of the entire Order. But the glances being sent his way told Harry that the topic would eventually have to be addressed. If Dumbledore knew that the Potters lived, and could communicate with them, determining who their secret keeper had been would have been trivial.

No one could honestly believe that Dumbledore would not have asked the question.

Elphias Doge was speaking now. "So who did Voldemort fight in the Atrium? I was told that it was Harry, but now you're saying it was his brother?"

Jamie seemed to want to speak at that, but his father beat him to it. "Jamie went straight to the Atrium, and helped the Headmaster force Voldemort to retreat." This was said with no small amount of pride.

Doge looked unimpressed. "And Harry?"

"I was busy in the Department of Mysteries, sir, dealing with the death eaters we found there." Harry kept his tone calm, giving his statement as a report, as Colonel Ramsay had taught him. _Just the facts,_ he had said.

"Aye, and what did you accomplish down there?" asked Doge.

Harry chose not to answer, instead looking over at Kingsley Shacklebolt. Being the most senior active auror in the room, the official report would have to come from him. Shacklebolt saw the eyes of the room turn toward him, and sighed.

"Harry and his team were able to capture eleven death eaters, four in the atrium and seven in the Department of Mysteries. These include Dolohov, Goyle, and Malfoy. The twelve remaining death eaters were killed during the battle." Kingsley made no mention of Lily and James Potter.

"Twenty-three death eaters," said Dedalus Diggle. "I don't believe it."

"To be fair," said Harry, "We did not engage them all at once."

"And who was we, exactly, young man?" asked another Order member.

"Myself and five students, sir." Seeing the looks of disbelief, he continued. "We were led to believe that the death eaters would be waiting for us, so we decided to come prepared. It seems that they did not extend us the same courtesy."

"You killed them!" the man replied, shock in his tone and anger in his expression.

"Yes, sir, we did." Harry replied, evenly. "Each of them was a marked death eater, and each one made a credible attempt to kill us. I will not apologize for defending myself, nor my team, sir." He did not mention the blood feud, and would not if he could get away with it. That would be announced later.

"You think that line will work when they cart you off to Azkaban?" asked Doge.

Kingsley spoke up, then. "There is another element at work here, Elphias." Again, the eyes of the Order turned to the dark-skinned auror, who tried hard not to let his discomfort show. "Two weeks ago, Madam Bones petitioned the International Confederation of Wizards to declare the Death Eaters an international terrorist organization. She cited their activities in Albania, their attempts to recruit werewolves on the continent, and their involvement in an attack on a British family on vacation in the French Riviera."

Dumbledore, for once, was surprised. "I recall no such vote, Kingsley."

The auror looked apologetic, but continued. "It was the justice committee, Albus, voting in a closed session. No one wanted to risk giving the death eaters any warning."

"How does that matter here?" came the question from an annoyed Doge.

"It matters," answered Harry, "because it is not illegal to subdue or kill a terrorist when the terrorist is carrying out an act of terrorism. Infiltrating the Ministry, while armed, in hopes of committing theft at best or kidnapping, assault, and murder at worst?" He shrugged. "Madam Bones was thrilled we captured as many as we did." Again, he carefully did not look at his parents, for he did not see anything to be gained in antagonizing them by noting that they, too, had been among those captured.

For the first time that night, the Order was silent, as they absorbed exactly what Harry had said.

The ICW had given out a hunting license for death eaters, with no limit.

oOoOoOoOo

"So let me get this straight," Elphias Doge said, after a few moments. "You said that there is a prophecy about the boy-who-lived. But I see two of them sitting here, Albus. So which is it?"

All eyes turned to the Headmaster. Dumbledore straightened up in his chair, before taking in the faces of the Order. Now that he knew what to look for, Harry saw the very subtle manipulations - the inclusive gestures, the tilt of the head, the eye contact. Dumbledore had decades upon decades of experience as a teacher, and had had nearly every person in the room as a student. He knew all the tricks, and used them well.

"We have studied the prophecy in detail," he began. "It says that a boy born at the end of July would slay the Dark Lord. And he did," Dumbledore gestured toward Harry. "In 1981."

"Yet the Dark Lord lives," replied Hestia Jones.

"Yes. And there, with that bit of Dark Magic, comes the reason for the Potters' seclusion. For you see, the prophecy applies to both Potter sons." Dumbledore indicated a very nervous looking Jamie Potter. "We believe that Harry's part in the prophecy has ended, and that it falls to Jamie, here, to vanquish the Dark Lord once again."

Doge scoffed. "Then why have you been training Harry, over there?"

"My apologies, sir," said Harry. "I've received no training from the Headmaster. Our study sessions in Defense this year were strictly extracurricular." He nodded to Jamie. "I suspect, however, that my brother has received extensive training from experts in the field."

"Indeed," said the Headmaster, calmly. Harry could tell from the expressions around the table that some members remained unconvinced - and others outright unhappy. More importantly, Dumbledore's tone of voice said that he knew it, too, and he rapidly changed the subject. "Severus, what news of the Dark Lord?"

Snape looked up, his face a mask of disinterest. "Narcissa Malfoy spent much of the day under the _cruciatus_ curse, as a result of her husband's failure. I have received no specific orders, nor am I aware of any specific plans." He glanced at Harry. "He was unprepared for Lucius Malfoy's utter lack of success at the Ministry, it seems."

As Dumbledore discussed this news, Harry looked to his left and met Sirius' gaze. His godfather nodded, and Harry raised his bottle of water in salute. As soon as talking about the Potters got awkward, Dumbledore had changed the subject as quickly as he could. They had not gotten the reception that he had expected. What that meant going forward, neither of them knew.

oOoOoOoOo

Once the meeting ended, the group began to disperse. As the Order members began to walk up the stairs, Harry got another hug from Molly Weasley, who freed him only after he again promised to visit over the summer. Kingsley gave him a nod, which he returned. To his surprise, Professor Snape did as well. Harry would need to speak with both men in the coming weeks, and made a note to do so sooner rather than later.

After speaking briefly to Tonks and Remus, Sirius returned to his seat and lounged back. James and Lily were greeting old friends as they departed, in each case promising to speak to them soon. Jamie stayed in his seat, looking more uncomfortable by the minute.

When the room was almost empty, Harry walked over to the cooler and grabbed three butterbeers. He sat one in front of Sirius, before sliding the second down one side of the table. Jamie's hand shot out and grabbed the bottle just as it met the edge of the surface, and Harry gave him an approving nod. Growing up isolated, his brother had likely never had the chance to play organized quidditch - but it seemed that he had reflexes good enough to play seeker.

 _Another piece of information to file away,_ Harry thought as he took the seat next to Sirius. He ignored the eyes of the Headmaster, and focused his attention on the Potters.

"Are we going to have a problem, Harry?" James asked, without preamble.

His brusque tone surprised Harry. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, we're basically naming Jamie here as the Chosen One." Harry almost rolled his eyes at the title, for he could even hear the capital 'C' in his father's voice. "Doesn't that bother you?"

Harry shook his head. "As I said at the Ministry, being the chosen one is no great shakes, sir." He allowed himself a chuckle. "If you all think that that is for the best, I have no objection."

"That's fine, now." replied James. "But what about next year, when Jamie goes to Hogwarts?"

A pause. "My apologies, is that a question? I had assumed he would be there, yes."

"Will you be jealous of him, Harry?" Lily asked. "Will you let him take his place in Gryffindor?"

 _This just gets better and better,_ Harry thought. "I'm still not sure if you understand me. Being the boy-who-lived almost got me killed at least half a dozen times, not counting this year. If you want to place that on Jamie's shoulders, then you're welcome to do so. It does not bother me nearly as much as you seem to think it will."

Lily seemed unsatisfied with that answer, but accepted it. The Headmaster leaned forward, looking intently at Harry.

"Harry, my boy, I was disappointed when I read the report from the DMLE on your little trip to the Ministry." Dumbledore seemed to be fishing for a reaction from Harry, and Sirius saw it as well.

After a moment, Harry spoke. "Again, sir, is that a question? I have not yet read the report, and cannot speak to its contents."

Dumbledore's expression seemed to harden at that, just for a moment, before the grandfatherly manner returned. "Be that as it may, I want to believe that our trust in you is not misplaced, Mister Potter."

 _Oh, Mister Potter? Well then._ "Would it satisfy you if I agreed to conduct myself within the bounds of the appropriate laws and customs, then?"

"At a minimum," said James. Dumbledore glared at him, again just for an instant. "You need to understand that Voldemort's focus will be on Jamie now. Anything you do that takes our attention from him could harm the war effort."

"I see." said Harry. "May I ask why?"

"Jamie is the child of prophecy, Harry," said Dumbledore, as if addressing an infant.

"Sure, yes, that, but I meant to ask, why would Voldemort not want to kill me? Why is his focus off of me and on Jamie?" Harry shrugged. "I mean, it's not like I killed a dozen of his death eaters, or anything. Usually that tends to make him a little cross."

"And it's unfortunate that you took such action without consulting me, Mister Potter." said Dumbledore, in his disappointed voice. "Perhaps you should have considered that before you acted."

"You assume that I did not, sir." Harry said, coldly. "I would argue that I have a better understanding of the state of this war than some of the others in this room. Perhaps better than you, Headmaster."

Dumbledore looked at him evenly. "Then you would be wrong."

"That may be," Harry replied, rising as he spoke. "If we're done talking past each other, I've had a very long couple of days."

"I trust you will take the summer to consider your choices, Mister Potter." Dumbledore said, his genial manner returning.

Harry looked at the Headmaster, careful to keep a tight control on his voice. He had kept his emotions in check, and did not want to betray his anger this late in the game. "Professor, I can assure you that I plan to do little else, this summer, than consider my choices." Internally, he chuckled to himself. _Little else, apart from training, revealing my lordships, openly declaring a blood feud, possibly repudiating my parents, getting to know my brother, hunting death eaters, and trying not to ruin my relationship with my girlfriend._

Harry grinned at the Headmaster. "I have every hope that it will be a slow summer, Professor."

oOoOoOoOo

Sirius managed to catch Harry before he made it to the floo. "You okay, pup?"

Harry turned, and smiled at his godfather. "They have no idea what's about to happen, do they?"

"No," replied Sirius, chuckling. "No, I don't think they do."

"A year ago, even, maybe I would fall in line." Harry shook his head. "They abandoned me, Padfoot. Left me with the Dursleys. Of all the people in the world, surely Lily would know what that meant." His eyes met Sirius', and the marauder saw that Harry's were beginning to water. "How could they expect me to trust them? After that?"

Sirius pulled Harry into a hug. "I don't know, pup."

After a moment, they separated. "Perhaps someday, we'll get along. Maybe. But for now, we have a war to win." Harry took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "Did they say when the Wizengamot is going to argue itself blue over this mess?"

Sirius shook his head. "Probably within the week. Quicker, if Fudge resigns."

Harry nodded. "Think I might stop by and see the show." He grinned at Sirius' look of shock. "It's time."

They had discussed the big reveal, but always as a last resort. "You'll shake things up, that's for sure."

"That's the idea," replied Harry. "Soon, someone will see the notice and put the pieces together. Why let them have the initiative?"

Sirius nodded. They had discussed just this plan, of course. But knowing that it might be a possibility and actually implementing it were two very different things. "If I hear anything, I'll use the mirror."

Harry patted his pocket. "Good." They hugged again. "Thank you, Sirius."

"Always, Harry." was the reply. Then, Harry grabbed the floo powder, and disappeared into the fireplace.

Sirius Black closed his eyes, allowing himself a deep sigh. "You can come out, Jamie."

James Potter, Junior, entered the sitting room. "How did you know?"

A chuckle. "This old dog still has a few tricks." He smiled at Jamie, trying to put him at ease. "Control of the wards helps."

Jamie nodded, sitting on a couch. After a moment, he looked up at Sirius. "He hates us, doesn't he?"

"You, no." Sirius corrected. "Your parents, I think it's an open question." He sat down across from Jamie, considering how to respond. "You have to understand, Harry has been through a lot, most of it because he was an orphan. This summer will be the first time he can actually stay somewhere he calls home in his entire life."

"Why wouldn't, I mean…" Jamie's voice trailed off.

"Staying with you would show him everything you had that he didn't." Sirius replied, simply. "Do you know how many pictures there are of Harry at the Dursleys' house? None. And he lived there for fifteen years." Sirius leaned back in his seat, eyeing the boy. "Tell me, truthfully, how many pictures of Harry are there in your home?"

Jamie's face fell. He didn't need to speak to tell Sirius everything he needed to know.

"Someday, Jamie, your parents will have to come to grips with what they did to Harry. Just as Harry will have to come to grips with it." He sighed again. "Harry believes, correctly, I think, that there are bigger issues to deal with before that happens."

"Voldemort," said Jamie, quietly.

Sirius nodded. "Voldemort."

"The Headmaster told me that everything is planned out, and all I need to do is my best." He closed his eyes, fatigue setting in. "I don't think he planned for all of this, though."

"You know," said Sirius, "I only know two people in the world more stubborn than the Headmaster. One of them is your father."

Jamie chuckled at that, if only for the obvious truth of the statement. "And the other?"

Sirius inclined his head at the fireplace. "The other just went back to Hogwarts."


	7. The Just and the Loyal

The events of the past two days had started to catch up to Harry, and he had not slept well. Getting back to the castle late had helped not at all, of course. Despite that, he had still gotten up at his usual hour, joined a few minutes later by Neville and Ron, both of whom had gotten to bed at a reasonable time.

The three gryffindors were among the first to sit down in the great hall for breakfast that Saturday morning. There was little discussion among the group - they had gotten a brief summary of the order meeting from Harry before they came down, though each knew that there was much he left unsaid.

Neither of them asked about the Potters. That, too, could wait.

Their focus now was on the Daily Prophet, and how it would spin the events at the Ministry. Would the headline decry the loss of so many fine, upstanding citizens? Would it lament the boy-who-lived and his turn to darkness? Or would it be an honest accounting of the fight with a very-much-alive Voldemort and his terrorists?

Harry had not heard back from Madam Bones when he wrote to her about his meeting with Barnabas Cuffe, nor had he expected a response. The DMLE Director rarely cared about what was said in the paper, but at Harry's urging she had hoped to play up the ICW declaration and the terrorist angle. Twenty three terrorists walked into the ministry to cause mayhem, and eleven were carried out in shackles. The other twelve were carried out in bags.

And as for Voldemort? Harry knew how badly Madam Bones wanted to hang the Minister out to dry, but she would be hesitant to use the attack to remove him directly. In his letter, Harry had agreed with her - especially seeing as how most of the wizengamot would probably want him out anyway. Better, he thought, to give the facts of the matter and let them make their own decision.

He did not tell her that she would be a top candidate for Minister, especially if she was seen as the steady hand holding things together after the chaos of the battle. They had not discussed her ambitions much, not in the few meetings he had had with her. What he did know, and what was obvious from her demeanor every time she mentioned Minister Fudge, was that she believed that she would do a much better job than he had. He also could tell that she did not _want_ to be Minister.

To his mind, that made her the ideal candidate.

An elbow from Neville shook Harry out of his musings. With a nod, Neville pointed out Hannah Abbott, who was taking her seat at the Hufflepuff table. Rare indeed was the morning that she went to breakfast without her best friend, and Harry's eyes went to the main entrance. There, he saw Susan Bones standing there, leaning against the door frame, looking right at him.

Ron saw the look, and followed his gaze - and then chuckled. "Time to face the music, mate," he said, quietly. Neville tried hard not to react as well, and was mostly successful.

Harry rolled his eyes at his friends, before taking a piece of toast. Rising, he made a show of straightening his clothing. "Wish me luck, lads." he said, before walking toward the Bones heiress.

The two watched him go. Neville shook his head, smiling at the sight. "He crosses wands with death eaters, and doesn't blink. You put him in front of the Dark Lord, and he's all business. A true Gryffindor." He nodded toward Harry and Susan, who were speaking quietly. "But when his favorite Hufflepuff is involved? _That's_ when he gets nervous."

oOoOoOoOo

Harry said little as he followed Susan down the stairs toward the dungeons. He knew where she was going - there were several empty classrooms near the Hufflepuff common room, and one had been converted into a combination lounge and study area by some group of NEWT students years ago. This early on a weekend, no one would be there.

When the new term started, and the six began having their own training sessions, Harry had pulled back slightly from the main DA classes. By this point, he had several upper year students (beyond his team) who could reliably instruct the others, either on particular spells or in general. He and Hermione were clearly stepping back, allowing others to take the lead.

Susan was not one of those students - she hadn't joined up to become a teacher. She had joined up because of her parents. She had joined up because of Cedric. She had joined up because of the kissed death eater they carried out of the school last year, trailing behind a chuckling Minister Fudge.

Mostly, she had joined because of the night she found Aunt Amelia working on a bottle of scotch after a meeting with Lord Malfoy. A meeting during which Lord Malfoy had asked if there were any marriage contracts involving her niece.

Susan Bones joined the DA to learn how to fight, and she wanted to learn from the best. Right now, Potter was it. _So why the hell was he stepping away from the DA?_ When she saw Harry and Neville leave together one Sunday afternoon, she decided to find out.

Harry smiled to himself, as he thought back to the first time he had had a meeting like this with Susan Bones.

" _One more round," Neville said, still catching his breath. He was not leaning on the wooden staff - yet - but it was clear that he was nearing his limit._

 _Harry's muscles ached as well, even as he gave his own staff a spin. "You sure, Nev?"_

 _A nod. "They're not going to take breaks, why should I?"_

 _Harry frowned at that. "Death eaters sleep too, Neville. It doesn't help anyone if we overdo it."_

 _Neville gave his own staff a flourish, shifting it from hand to hand. "I mean, if you're too tired…"_

" _Oh, I didn't say that, did I?" Harry was grinning, and Neville seemed to relax a bit at that. Which, of course, was when he struck._

 _They fought for a few minutes, during which Harry remained the aggressor. Neville found himself backed up against the edge of the platform, forced to dodge left or right and circle back around. The rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the wooden staves was the only sound._

 _Eventually, Harry stepped inside Neville's guard. "Dead." said Harry, forcing Neville to look down and see the wooden knife at his throat. After a moment, they broke apart, each again trying to catch their breath._

" _That's a dirty trick," said Neville, without anger._

" _Since when do the death eaters play fair?" was Harry's response._

 _Neville didn't reply, but instead tossed his staff to Harry, who caught it effortlessly. With a grin, he went off to the showers the Room had helpfully provided, while Harry returned the staves to the rack along the wall._

" _Did you enjoy the show?" he asked the empty room. The quiet gasp that answered him brought a smirk. "Come on, now, if I thought you worked for the toad you'd already be waking up in a classroom somewhere, wondering where your memories went." He idly played with one of the throwing knives as he spoke. "Might as well show yourself."_

 _A quick Finite would end whatever disillusionment their visitor was using, but Harry had found himself curious who had followed them. Was it a slytherin? A younger student hoping to learn more about the boy who lived? He had not expected to see the girl who revealed herself, a sheepish expression on her face at having been caught out._

" _Hello, Susan."_

oOoOoOoOo

When they entered the study room, Susan quickly locked the door. Before Harry could add privacy charms, the red-haired witch had him in a hug. He could do little more than hug her back - relieved that she was not angry with him, but concerned that she had worried.

After a few minutes, she pulled back, almost dragging Harry to a nearby couch. Once he was seated, she took a seat on the other end, putting her feet up on his lap. Without prompting, Harry told her about the events at the Ministry.

Susan barely reacted to the news that Harry and the others had killed death eaters. She shared her aunt's view on the matter - while she hated the loss of life, she hated allowing the death eaters to escape even more. That had actually been one of Susan's arguments, when she convinced Aunt Amelia to support Harry's efforts - and, by extension, Harry himself. Death eaters who escaped were responsible for a known number of additional deaths and injuries - stopping them prevented those deaths. It was a strict cost-benefit analysis, straight out of one of Harry's muggle books.

As it turned out, Aunt Amelia had not required much convincing, to Susan's surprise.

The longer Harry spoke, however, the more convinced Susan became that he was leaving something out. Something big. They had gotten to know each other well enough over these past few months, much to both of their surprises, and she could tell that he was hesitant to complete the tale. Moreover, he could tell that she knew - her eyebrows furrowed in exactly the same way that her aunt's did when she was judging evidence.

After a quiet few minutes, he sighed. "When we were in the Death Chamber, we also caught a witch and a wizard who weren't death eaters. Your aunt confirmed their identities as James and Lily Potter."

Susan's hand went to her mouth, stifling her gasp. "Your parents?" She said quietly.

Harry nodded. "They survived and went into hiding." His eyes met hers, and she saw how upset he was, how raw his emotions were when his parents came up. He continued, his voice barely a whisper. "They had to train the boy-who-lived, you see."

"The boy who…. Oh, for fuck's sake, they didn't." Susan was startled when Harry laughed at her reaction. Off her annoyed look, he gave her a smile.

"I'm sorry, it's not funny, really," he said. "But that's exactly what your aunt said when Dumbledore told her about my secret twin brother, James Junior."

"James Junior?" she asked, incredulously. "You're a twin?"

Another nod. "They hid behind a charm that blocks all magic, in or out. And, apparently, they plan to announce him as the chosen one soon."

She was shaking her head in disbelief, stunned at the unmitigated gall of the plan. "Whose idea was that?"

"Professor Dumbledore."

Susan stood up at that, and began pacing. It was fortunate that they were in what amounted to a classroom, for had they been in the Room of Requirement, she likely would have started blasting training dummies. There was nothing, however, that prevented the stream of profanity that came out of her mouth.

Presently, she calmed down, a look of intense concentration coming over her features. Harry had teased her at one point, calling that look her 'Auror mode', for he had seen the same look on the face of Amelia Bones. Susan's aunt was a loving parental figure, a consummate politician (despite her distaste for politics), and an exceptional administrator - as the Director of the largest department of the Ministry would have to be. Above all of those roles, however, Amelia Bones considered herself an investigator - and she had been one of the best in her day, which was part of why she was Director in the first place.

Susan had learned quite a bit from her aunt. Putting the pieces of a puzzle together quicker than anyone else? That ran in the family.

Her words cut right to the heart of the matter. "He's going to take up the Lordship. He's going to be your Head of House."

Harry held up his hand, displaying the golden Lord's ring for House Potter. "He can try."

Susan's eyes grew wide. "You still have it? How?" She knew he had taken up his Lordship, but thought that the ring would revert to James Potter, now that he had been revealed as alive.

"Magic declared me the Lord Potter, and I sealed it with the oath," replied Harry. "James Potter, meanwhile, is legally dead. He's in no position to take up anything." His voice grew cold and hard, as the anger started to return at the thought of his parents. "There's also the small matter that they abandoned a member of their house without cause."

She heard the pain in his voice, and moved to sit next to him. He leaned against her as she put an arm around him. "Did they know about the Dursleys?" she asked, quietly.

He shook his head. "They had no idea where I had been staying." He closed his eyes, sighing heavily. "Even if they had bothered to find out, would they have done anything? I very much doubt it. It would have ruined Dumbledore's great plan."

"Fucking animals," she muttered, causing Harry to laugh.

They sat there for a few minutes, simply comforting each other. Despite their circumstances, and their agreement, she wanted to be there for him - and knew that he needed her there.

Her own parents had died at Voldemort's wand, which is why she had been raised by Aunt Amelia. There had been many days over the years when Susan found herself wishing that she could speak to them, just once, that she could spend a day with them and tell them how much she missed them. Today, however, after hearing about Harry's 'reunion', she found herself thankful that her parents had been confirmed dead, and their bodies found and later buried in the Bones crypt.

She shuddered. "How dare they," she whispered.

Harry responded with a deep sigh of his own, his arm pulling her closer. "I knew you'd understand."

oOoOoOoOo

 _The Room of Requirement had provided several low couches and a table, on which Harry Potter was now propping his boots. Susan, still nervous about having been discovered, had taken a bit of convincing before she took the seat across from the gryffindor._

" _Dobby?"_

 _Susan heard the pop of a house elf, and saw what had to be Dobby laying out a tray of biscuits and tea. The elf was wearing dark green pants and a small grey T-shirt. As the elf turned and looked at her before popping away, Susan saw that the shirt said "ARMY" in black letters. It was the strangest outfit she had ever seen an elf wear._

" _Anything for you, Neville?" Harry asked, raising his voice._

" _No thanks," was the reply from the showers, as Neville Longbottom entered the room, toweling his hair off. He stopped a few paces away when he saw Susan. "Harry?"_

 _Harry took a biscuit, smiling at her. "The Heiress Bones decided to see what we were up to, Heir Longbottom." He did nothing to keep the amusement out of his voice, which annoyed her._

" _This isn't funny, Harry," she began. "I thought you were leaving us to fend for ourselves."_

 _She saw Harry and Neville share a look. "No, Susan, we wouldn't do that to you." Harry paused, considering how to respond. "I never planned to teach every class, you knew that."_

" _I know, but when you asked Cho and Hannah and the twins to start teaching, I thought you'd be helping us." Susan's frustration was obvious. "I wanted to know what was so important that you had to stop showing up."_

" _And what did you find out?" asked Neville, quietly._

" _That you and Harry are exercising on your own, and that you're both hiding something from the group." Her brown eyes met Harry's green ones, and he could see the drive behind them. There was intensity there, more than even he had expected. "And that you're planning something to do with the death eaters."_

 _The boys shared another glance. Harry then took a sip of his tea, before quietly answering her unspoken question. "I'm just a fifth year, Susan, what business do I have fighting a war?"_

 _Susan shook her head. "Why bother with the DA, then? You said we needed to be prepared for anything. You said that we had to protect ourselves, that we had enemies inside and outside of the castle." She leaned forward, piercing him with her gaze. Despite her passion for the topic, her voice remained low and even - but both gryffindors could hear the steel her calm demeanor concealed. "Who else would you be preparing for?"_

 _Harry matched her move, leaning forward in his seat. "An underage wizard seeking out a fight with adults, many of them titled lords, would quickly fall afoul of the DMLE, Miss Bones." He took another sip of his tea. "As I'm sure you heard from Director Bones, even the slightest step out of bounds will bring the Ministry down on my head. I cannot risk that."_

 _Susan had to concede the point. But something he said gave her pause. She met his green eyes once more, and gave him a grin._

oOoOoOoOo

When Susan and Harry entered the corridor, they heard footsteps coming from their left. Angry, hurried footsteps. Harry was pleased to see Susan's wand already in her hand, ready to back him up.

"Potter!" Draco Malfoy looked as if he had been searching for him, and the Daily Prophet clutched in his hand explained why. The slytherin stopped about ten paces away - about the right distance for a duel. Curiously, he did not have his wand out.

"Heir Malfoy," Harry said, inclining his head slightly in a mockery of Pureblood traditions. It would not do to step out of bounds when a blood feud is in play, after all. "I see you heard the news."

"What did you do to my father?" Draco spat. Harry felt Susan tense, and fought to keep his voice calm. He would only have one shot at this.

"As I recall, Neville Longbottom relieved him of his hostage before I stunned his arse and handed him over to the DMLE," Harry said, evenly.

Draco sneered. "You know he'll be released before the week is out, right? Surely you're not that stupid."

Harry gave him a smile of his own - a smile that told Draco that Harry knew something he didn't. "You might be right," Harry replied. "And if they were held by the Ministry, I'd agree."

Draco frowned at that. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it seems the ICW isn't very happy with your Dark Lord, Heir Malfoy. As we speak, your father and ten of his pals are enjoying the hospitality of the ICW's new prison in the mountains of Northern Hungary." Harry allowed himself a bit of a sneer, just to rattle the slytherin. "I'll bet that by the end of the day they'll be filled with so much veritaserum that their bollocks will float out their ears."

"Oh, I'll bet the Dark Lord won't like that," said Susan. Draco paled, not sure how to respond.

Harry grinned. "No, I don't imagine he will."

"He'll kill you all, along with the blood traitors and the mudbloods!" Now Harry knew he had gotten into Draco's head, if all he had was the same tired old lines.

"Doubt it." Harry replied.

Draco pulled his wand out of his robes, only to have it fly into Susan's waiting hand. Her wordless _expelliarmus_ had caught the slytherin entirely by surprise. So stunned was he at the loss of his wand, that he did not keep his eyes on Harry. It took the metallic noise from Harry's right hand to get his attention, and even then he failed to react to the piece of dark metal he saw there.

Unfortunately for Draco, that dark metal was a telescoping steel baton. With a CRACK, Harry brought the weapon to Draco's knee, sending him sprawling to the floor. Before he could even react, Harry had him pinned down, one of his heavy combat boots on Draco's chest. Try as he might, Draco could not get free.

Without speaking, Harry lifted the sleeves of Draco's robes, checking the boy's arms. Bare skin showed that, for the moment, Draco Malfoy remained unmarked.

"Get off of me, Potter!" Hissed Draco.

Harry ignored him. "Here's what's going to happen. You're only going to hear this once, so listen well, Heir Malfoy." He leaned down, bringing his face closer to Draco's. His voice was calm and even, but that much more menacing for all that. "If you show up to school with the Dark Mark next term, you will die. If you take the Mark, and I find you over the summer holiday, you will die. If I find that you've gone on any raids or revels, as your master calls them, then marked or unmarked, you will die."

"You think Dumbledore will do anything to me? You think he can?"

The amusement on Harry's face chilled Draco to the core. "Honestly, no I don't."

"Then what do you think will happen to me?" Draco, despite the boot on his chest, tried his best to sneer.

Harry shrugged. "I think that I'll find you on the train and check your arms. If you've got the Dark Mark, then I'll kill you."

Draco paled again, but spoke without thinking. "You wouldn't dare," he spat.

Putting more weight on Draco's chest, Harry glared at him. "Ask your Aunt Bella exactly what I would dare, Draco Malfoy. And then speak to your mother." He stepped back, allowing Draco to scramble back along the stone floor. "I think you both have a lot to think about."

Draco just stared at him, before getting to his feet and fleeing down the corridor.

Susan walked over to his side, idly twirling Draco's hawthorn wand in her hand. "I'm still wondering why you warned him?"

Harry leaned against the wall, collapsing his baton and putting it away. "His mother was a Black, once upon a time. Sirius wanted me to give her and Draco a chance to escape."

"Why, though?" she asked, frowning.

"With Lucius gone, Draco becomes head of the house - meaning that if he flees, Voldemort loses his galleons. It hurts the enemy, and costs me nothing." He shrugged. "Besides, Sirius always liked Draco's mother, when they were kids. He wanted to give her one last chance." Harry sighed. "Unfortunately, Draco comes with the package."

"I see," she said, and he knew that she did. Then she chuckled. "Perhaps you can get rid of him later."

Harry laughed at that. Offering her his elbow, the pair began walking toward the kitchens. Susan had not eaten, after all, and they had had a busy morning. That neither of them had to ask where the other was going just spoke to how well they got along by this point.

"Maybe I'll take out an ad in the Prophet," Harry mused. "One Ferrett, pale oily fur. Loves hair products, spends its time putting its feet in its mouth. Mostly harmless. Free to a good home. Owl Lord Black for details."

Susan's laugh was infectious, and soon both of them were giving the joke much more of a reaction than it deserved. Harry glanced to the side, and saw her smile back at him. Maybe I'll be alright after all, he thought.

She did have one question, however. "Auntie never mentioned anything about any new Hungarian prison, Harry."

Harry chuckled. "I hear the mountains are beautiful, this time of year." They arrived at the entrance to the kitchens, and he paused before tickling the pear that would open the doorway. "They also have the benefit of being about as far away from The Hague as you can get."

Susan nodded. "A trap, then?"

Harry shrugged. "Let's call it misinformation." Opening the door, he gestured toward the kitchens with a flourish. "After you, Miss Bones."

oOoOoOoOo

 _Harry escorted Susan Bones out of the Room of Requirement, before returning for his bag. Neville, having already packed his things, was waiting._

" _Are you sure about this?" he asked. Harry sighed, grabbing the last biscuit while he considered his response._

" _Yeah, Neville, I think I am."_

" _I mean," Neville continued, "We agreed to keep our team a secret from everyone. Even cute Hufflepuffs."_

 _Harry rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."_

" _Harry, do you know how many times Susan Bones gets asked to Hogsmeade?"_

" _I can't say that I do, Nev."_

 _Neville shook his head. "Well, it's quite a lot, I assure you. And she always says no." He gestured toward the door. "Until today, when she asks you to go, and you - the Warrior Monk of Hogwarts, give her an immediate yes!"_

 _Harry sputtered into his tea. "The what now?"_

 _Neville chuckled. "Cho may have spread the rumor last term, after you turned her down. Something about not wanting to put her at risk when the fighting starts, I think?"_

" _I never said that," muttered Harry. "I said it was too soon for her, after the third task."_

" _Well, that's not how she told the tale, Lord Potter if you please," answered Neville, clearly enjoying himself._

" _Besides," Harry continued. "This isn't a date."_

" _Oh, it's not?"_

" _No, of course not, Susan just wants me to have lunch with her aunt."_

" _Yes, I caught that bit. Her aunt, the Honourable Madam Amelia Bones, the Regent Bones, Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and member of the ICW's task force on International Terrorism. Not to mention a long-time ally of your house." Neville raised his hand, as if offering a toast. "You sure know how to pick'em, mate."_

 _Harry waved his hand at Neville, in clear dismissal, and earned a laugh for his trouble. Picking up their bags, the boys made their way to Gryffindor Tower. As they walked, Harry thought about Neville's comments - and about their talk with Susan._

 _That night, Harry entered the dorm to find Ron and Neville looking at him expectantly. He paused in the doorway._

" _Gentlemen?" he asked, hesitantly._

 _Ron's face broke out in a grin. "I hear you have a date with Susan Bones?"_

" _Oh, for - Neville!" Ron and Neville laughed at Harry's reaction, clearly enjoying a light moment. Those had been few and far between, lately._

" _It's alright, Harry, I understand. I do. We're just having you on." Neville wasn't going to apologize, but he didn't want to anger Harry, either._

" _I know, I know, it's just… I mean, I don't want to make her a target, you know? I don't want to get her hurt." Harry looked at his friends, now his brothers-in-arms. "After this is done, I'll have all the time in the world for dating. Until then, I need to focus."_

 _If anyone would understand, it would be these two. Judging by their reactions, Harry knew that he was right._

oOoOoOoOo

Senior Accounts Manager Twinblade looked up from his parchmentwork when he heard the knock at his door. He had no appointments today, nor were any expected before next week. It was his honour to serve one family and one family only - a proud family, and a wealthy one, but still just one family.

When that family had but one member, and that member was attending Hogwarts, it became a trivial exercise to plan one's schedule.

"Come!" The old goblin stood, wondering who wanted to conduct business with the House of Potter. The oaken door swung open, admitting a tall, hooded wizard and a very annoyed Griphook.

 **/"This one claims to be of your house, father,"/** said Griphook, in the Goblin tongue. Twinblade could hear the anger in his son's voice, and wondered at it.

 **/"Indeed,"/** replied Twinblade. **/"Does this wizard have a name?"/**

Griphook glanced at the wizard, who had been following the exchange but clearly didn't understand the language. Of course, human names were not translated into the Goblin tongue, so Griphook improvised.

 **/"Father, he claims to be the previous Lord, father of the current Lord."/** Griphook was clearly uneasy with the situation.

Twinblade's eyebrow raised in surprise. It was a bold claim, all the better for proof though it may be. Such things were easily proven, however. _But not yet,_ he thought.

"I am told that you claim to be James Potter, wizard." Twinblade said, pitching his voice to convey just the right amount of annoyance. "Remove your hood and show yourself."

James Potter lowered the hook of his cloak, a polite smile on his face. "It is good to see you again, Twinblade."

Twinblade looked at him closely, his eyes narrowing, as if appraising an antique. Presently, he sat down at his desk, almost glaring at James.

"I will concede," began the Account Manager, "that you could be James Potter, son of Charlus. But that man died long ago. Yet, here he claims to stand before me." He sneered at James, exposing his sharp teeth. "Why should I believe you?"

James remembered well the day his father had reminded him about the Goblins - and that one should never relax in the presence of a smiling Goblin. "Albus Dumbledore secreted us away from harm, Twinblade. We have lived in secret all this time."

"And by we, you mean… who, exactly?"

James seemed to catch himself before responding. It was the briefest moment, easily dismissed - but for the fact that Twinblade was discounting nothing, at this point. Every word, every movement, all of it was information he needed. More importantly, it was information his client needed.

"My entire family went into hiding, Twinblade." said James.

Griphook, from his place near the door, spoke up. "Manager Twinblade, I had the honour of escorting one Harry Potter to his trust vault before his first year at Hogwarts. Am I to believe that that one was an impostor?"

James' eyes grew wide, as he realized his slip. "My apologies, Twinblade. Harry, of course, remained in the wizarding world."

"Yes, yes he did." replied the old Goblin. "And you, your wife Lily, and your other son James Junior, all were declared dead by the Ministry. Our own tests of your magic confirmed it." He leaned forward, filling his voice with all the contempt he could. "As far as Gringotts is concerned, I am speaking to a dead man."

James' face clouded in anger. "I am the Lord Potter, by right of blood and law. I would take up the ring, and restore myself as Head of House."

Twinblade stood, staring at the man. Then he snapped his fingers, summoning two guards. "As I said, sir, you are a dead man. Dead men cannot take up the Lordship, certainly not of any house to whom I owe my service."

"I will take the inheritance test!" James shouted, angrily, as the guards reached him. They made no move to threaten him, and waited quietly at the gesture from Twinblade.

Again, the Account Manager sneered at his former client. "Dead men inherit nothing, sir. Go to your Ministry, plead your case to them. If they see fit to recognize you as a living wizard, then perhaps we will have business." With a nod, he sent the guards out. James, wisely, did not choose to object, but the anger on his face was plain.

After the door closed, Griphook looked to his father. Twinblade met his son's eyes, and grinned. Then he handed his son a galleon. **/"It would seem that Lord Potter was correct, after all."/**

The two spoke for a few more minutes, as father and son, before Griphook went to return to his duties. Twinblade, meanwhile, began writing a letter to his client.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Life, as happens on occasion, has been a dumpster fire. Hopefully we'll get back into the swing of more regular updates before too much longer.**

 **As anyone who saw the tags update a few weeks ago might guess, Susan Bones will play an interesting role moving forward. I don't like Harry/Susan stories where she exists as a way to get Amelia involved and fixing whatever needs fixing, but in this case, with this Susan, that's how it started off - for her. Harry's motivations, as we'll see throughout, are more complex. Both Susan and her Aunt will have an enormous amount of influence on Harry's strategy, and already have in the case of Amelia.**

 **James has spent close to fifteen years with one son - the fact that he doesn't include Harry in his thoughts when speaking of his entire family is telling. Even if it's just a slip of the tongue, it's pretty damning. Twinblade, who knows exactly how likely he'd be to abandon his own son, is quite right to be horrified. That Harry called it should surprise no one. Twinblade, for his part, remembered the young auror who held the Lordship for so brief a time - and had hoped that James was not the man Harry expected him to be. Griphook never knew James, but knows Harry - and trusted his instincts when betting with his father.**

 **Next: The Term ends, and Summer begins.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	8. The Plan

Ambrose Rookwood watched from the Slytherin table as the students filtered in to get their breakfast. It was the last day of the year, and soon he would be on the train back to London. His day would not end there, of course, for he had an appointment to keep at the Ministry.

The sixth year had known that his summer would be a busy one, but rewarding for all that. The Unspeakables had accepted him as an apprentice, and would work him to the bone. From the account in the Prophet, it seemed that there would be a great deal of work to be done to repair the damage done to the Department of Mysteries.

He was eager to take these first steps toward following his father's path and becoming an unspeakable in his own right. The Rookwoods had served the Department of Mysteries for over a century, and Ambrose would be the fifth generation to walk those halls. If ever there had been a chance that Ambrose would choose some other career, it was gone now - for his father was dead, and he found himself as the last of the Rookwoods.

The notice from the Ministry had said only that he was now Head of House, due to the death of his father. That the DMLE was investigating the death offered no comfort, for Ambrose knew that his father had been a death eater. What he did not know was what his father had been doing when he died. More importantly, who had killed him?

Two seventh years wore the dark mark, though Ambrose suspected quite a few more of his housemates would enter the Dark Lord's service before summer's end. He did not plan on taking the mark himself, as his father had wanted him to be able to plausibly deny involvement in the war. He also knew that the mark would not escape the notice of the unspeakables, and that would jeopardize his career options.

Neither of the marked death eaters knew what had happened to his father. When Ambrose approached Professor Snape, he got the same answer, along with an admonishment to keep his head down and stay out of trouble.

So, after meeting with the unspeakables and setting his schedule for the summer, Ambrose planned to visit the DMLE and find out what he could. He also had to make arrangements for his father's remains to be returned home.

Ambrose looked up and down the table, taking stock of which housemates were present. Several of the other slytherins who had had parents killed that night had taken it poorly, raging and lashing out and shouting about revenge and death - as subtle as gryffindors, they were. Others reacted differently, like the fifth year boy who seemed relieved at the news.

For his part, Ambrose Rookwood leaned into the lessons his father had taught him. The man had been an unspeakable almost since the day he graduated Hogwarts, and had possibly been one of the wisest of the death eaters. His father had always told Ambrose to never sit with his back to a doorway, to always work hard to be the smartest man in the room, and to never allow his enemies the element of surprise.

For one brief moment, someone or something had surprised Augustus Rookwood, and it had resulted in his death. The first step toward whatever would happen next, for Ambrose, was to find out how that happened - and who was responsible.

"Know thy enemy," he said to himself, the noise of the great hall ensuring that no one else heard.

oOoOoOoOo

Just as the train began moving, Susan Bones found the compartment where Harry should have been. She did not see him, but did see Ron, Neville, and Hermione sitting across from Luna and Ginny. Each saw the hufflepuff smile to herself, before stowing her trunk in the rack. When she saw that there were already six trunks in the compartment, she smirked.

"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, indicating the empty seat beside Luna, near the window. Before anyone could answer, she made a show of dropping into the seat. The seat made a sound remarkably like "Oof!" before she felt arms wrap around her waist.

"Hello, Harry." She said, trying hard not to laugh.

Harry Potter's head appeared, floating behind her shoulder. "You're sitting on the cloak, Susan," he said with a grin. She stood, allowing him to pull the invisibility cloak off and stash it in his bag.

After she had settled in between Harry and Luna, Susan listened as the group chatted about the usual end-of-term nonsense - summer assignments, their OWLs, travel plans, and the like. It did not escape Susan that there was no discussion about the battle, the Ministry, or the war.

The fact did not bother Susan overmuch, as she could be required to report anything she learned to her head of house - who, in this case, was the Director of the DMLE. She had discussed this with Harry, and both agreed that they did not want to put her in that position. Susan knew that her aunt was aware of Harry's group, and what they planned - but most of the details were kept intentionally vague, which was how Madam Bones wanted it.

The conversation did wind its way to the newly reinstated Headmaster Dumbledore, after a while. Harry did not do a very good job of hiding his scoff at the man's title, earning chuckles from the group, and a raised eyebrow from Susan.

"So," she remarked. "That's why you used the cloak this morning?" Harry shrugged in response.

"He didn't want the Headmaster to try and tell him where to go for the summer," said Luna, her eyes still on her copy of the Quibbler. "He can't disobey if he's not told what to do."

"I see," Susan replied. "And where will you be this summer, Harry?" She wanted to ask about sending owls, but decided that that could wait.

"Oh, I'll be a good boy, for now," he said. "The Headmaster wanted me to stay in Surrey for all those years, so in Surrey I shall be." Then he smiled at her. "At least, until the Wizengamot meets, that is."

Hermione looked up from her book, a wistful look on her face. "I wish I could be there when you make the announcement," she said.

"I'll let you view my memory, Hermione," said Neville. "The Longbottom seat is near the top row, we can see pretty much everything."

"Including the visitor's gallery?" asked Luna.

Neville raised an eyebrow at the question. "Of course, why?"

Luna gave him a soft smile. "Because that's where the Potters will be sitting."

Ginny shook her head. "I heard Professor McGonagall mention that the Headmaster was working on important parchmentwork in his office, and that that's why he skipped breakfast this morning."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Probably my esteemed father," he sighed. "It takes a lot of parchment to change someone from 'dead' to just 'missing'."

"Wouldn't the DMLE have updated their file when they were caught alive in the Ministry?" asked Hermione.

It was Susan's turn to scoff at that. "It's not Auntie's job to help people with their records. At most, she'd just confirm their identities if asked - and the records office will ask, once the correct forms are filed, of course."

"With so much parchment going through that place," Harry said, "It's a wonder anything gets done at all."

"Yes, well, with the Headmaster shepherding it along, it won't be long before the Potters are officially alive." said Neville. "And then, the real fun begins."

"Speaking of which," said Hermione. "Harry, did Director Bones tell you why there were no charges against your parents? Nothing about trespassing in the Ministry or faking their deaths or anything like that?" She looked uncertain as she asked her question, and Harry knew why. There was quite a bit left out of that list of crimes - most of them involving his being left with the Dursleys, and the scars that resulted.

Susan saw Harry's expression darken, and decided to speak up before he could respond. "I think Aunt Amelia wanted to see what the Potters did next, now that they are back." She reached over and grabbed one of Harry's hands, giving it a squeeze. "Even knowing that they are really who they say they are, she knows nothing about their true reasons for going into hiding - or for coming back now."

"They left him with those muggles, though." said Ron, speaking up for the first time. "Fred and George and I had to pull bars off of a window to get him out that summer."

Susan shrugged. "They would argue that that was Dumbledore's decision, and they didn't know." She looked thoughtful. "Assuming, of course, that they even try to blame Dumbledore."

"They might," said Neville, "If they thought he could get away with it, and they couldn't." He shook his head in disgust. "Any other wizard who tried a plot half as complicated as this one, they'd be in Azkaban before you could say 'puffskein'."

"And that brings us to reason number two, Hermione," Susan continued, dropping into the courtroom voice she had heard all her life from her Aunt Amelia. When the Director had had complex arguments or speeches to give before the Wizengamot, she frequently practiced her delivery before her favorite audience - her niece. Amelia later teased that Susan would end up as a gifted advocate, since most witches and wizards do not begin their legal training at the age of five.

Hermione might study the laws, but books of decisions and precedents do little to demonstrate why the laws are enforced as they are. Neville's lessons from his gran, meanwhile, gave him a firm understanding of the politics of the Wizengamot - but little knowledge about the laws that body sought to enforce. Having her guardian be both the top law enforcement official for Wizarding Britain, and at the same time the Regent Bones, left Susan with an almost instinctive knowledge of what the laws were, how they were enforced - and, most importantly, why it was so.

In that light, interpreting the Director's actions, or lack thereof, towards the Potters was simple. It helped that she knew the Director so well, of course.

Susan seemed to relax into the role of analyzing her aunt's decision, even as her tone took on the careful neutrality of the courtroom. "If Director Bones accused the Chief Warlock of the crimes of this nature, she would need to make sure she could convict him. Even with hard evidence beyond the testimony of the Potters, there would still be a large portion of the Wizengamot who would vote not guilty. Her evidence would need to be unbeatable." She looked at Harry, whose expression was unreadable. "As for the Potters, they could truthfully say that they were following the instructions of the Chief Warlock, acting in a time of war. That they were sequestered and out of contact meant that they were not given the ability to prevent harm to Harry, which they would argue absolves them of guilt."

"So they get off, then," said Hermione, sadly.

"Oh, I didn't say that at all." Susan said. She held up Harry's hand, displaying the Lord's ring. Everyone in the compartment knew of his Lordship, and so the ring was visible to them - the glamours would only kick in if someone not in the know was nearby. "How did that oath go again, Harry?"

Harry smiled at her, seeing where she was going with that line of reasoning. "I swear on my life and magic to devote myself to the House of Potter. I swear to defend the House and its members, together with all who find themselves under our protection, against any and all enemies, magical and mundane. I swear to uphold both law and custom as befits our ancient lineage. I swear to uphold the honor and nobility of my house. I pledge my wand and my blade, as Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, to see these things done, or to die trying. As I say, so I swear." There was no glow of an accepted oath, which surprised a few of those present, until they realized that there wouldn't be - he had already taken the oath, and bound himself to the magic of it through the Lord's ring. This had merely been a recitation.

Susan patted Harry on the hand, smiling at Hermione. "Consider what we know of James Potter, and his actions with regard to Harry."

Hermione looked from Susan to Harry, before looking over at Neville. "I don't understand."

Neville's eyes were wide as the implications hit him. "The Potters are an old family, Hermione. Every line of that oath could be given on its own, and you'd still be bound to it. That's why it's written the way it is, you see? It's not one oath, but several. And each one is tied together into a binding commitment on Lord Potter's life and magic. If Harry unknowingly violates one of those oaths - say, by violently attacking someone he didn't know was a Potter, for example - his magic would let him know. Probably painfully."

"And knowingly?" asked Ginny. She knew the answer, but needed Hermione to understand as well.

Neville's voice was grave. "If Harry knowingly went against his oath, he could die. The family magic could literally rip the life or magic from him." He looked over at Hermione. "By abandoning Harry all those years ago, James Potter violated every line of that oath."

Hermione looked stunned. Then, she looked puzzled again. "But he hasn't, has he?" Off the looks from the others, she kept speaking. "He still has his magic, and he's obviously still alive, so why didn't the oath work?"

"Because he was dead."

Everyone turned to look at Harry, whose quiet voice seemed to command their attention.

"I don't know what the hell was going through James Potter's mind when he decided to leave me at the Dursleys," Harry said. "If I was in hiding, thinking my son was being cared for, and I learned that he was not, I'd move heaven and earth to rescue them. If I left my son in the care of someone I trusted, I would demand to know the details of how they were cared for, how they were living and thriving and growing." He sighed. "The Potters didn't even realize I had grown up with the Dursleys before we met two nights ago. They assumed I had been raised by a wizarding family, which makes sense I guess, but they never even bothered to find out WHO exactly had their son."

"You mean…. Oh, Merlin." Ron's look of horror was shared by the rest of the group.

"Yeah," replied Harry, bitterly. "I was so important to them that they had no idea where I was. Dumbledore didn't even need to come up with a plausible lie for them, because they never fucking thought to ask." He shook his head, fighting hard to control his anger. Susan's hand on his helped immensely, he found. "As far as I'm concerned, the only reason the family magic hasn't already ripped the magic from James Potter is that he was 'dead' when the harm was committed."

"And now that he's alive?" asked Hermione, almost in a whisper.

"Now that he's alive, he can be called to judgment by Lord Potter." Harry gave Susan's hand a squeeze, before leaning forward and looking Hermione in the eye. When he continued, his tone gave her a chill, for it was filled with more malice than she had ever heard from her friend.

"If and when that happens, I suspect that James Potter will be found… wanting."

oOoOoOoOo

When Neville and Ron began trading looks, Susan took it as her signal to leave the team to their meeting. Before she left the compartment to visit with Hannah and some of the other hufflepuffs, she made sure to invite the group to Bones Manor for a party. Her birthday was on July the 19th, less than two weeks before Harry's, and she wanted to have some sort of joint birthday party.

The fact that Harry had never had a birthday party at all weighed heavily on her mind. She hoped to at least give them a break from the war. The six each knew exactly what she was doing - and approved wholeheartedly. All of them promised to attend.

Harry walked with her into the corridor. Susan was only partially successful at hiding her blush.

"You know I'll be coming back later, right Harry? My things are still here, after all."

"I know," responded Harry.

Susan looked up at him, meeting his eyes. There was a bit of worry there, now that they were alone. Uncertainty, perhaps - but whether it was about them or about the war, she could not tell.

Deciding to shake him loose of it, she poked him in the shoulder. "Now see here, Potter, I seem to remember you and I coming to an agreement. Don't you dare think about backing out now, My Lord Potter if you please."

He could not help smiling at that, in spite of himself. "I would not dream of it, Heiress Bones." With a flourish, he made a show of kissing her hand. She almost giggled at the exaggerated gesture - almost.

"Careful, My Lord," she said, grinning. "If you keep that up, I might have to have Auntie write up a contract." Stepping forward, Susan wrapped the gryffindor in a tight hug - and did not see how his eyes had widened in shock at the mention of a contract.

In his ear, she whispered. "Stay safe, Harry." Then she kissed his cheek, and walked up toward the front of the train, and her housemates.

Harry watched her go, a hand on his cheek. Lost in his thoughts, he did not hear the compartment door opening.

"She doesn't know, does she?" asked Neville in a quiet voice. Harry's eyes remained on the door at the end of the carriage, but Neville could hear his friend's sigh.

"Nev, I don't even think Madam Bones knows."

Neville placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "May I suggest telling her first?"

Harry chuckled at that. "I think that's about the only way I'll live through it, honestly."

oOoOoOoOo

The six decided to meet in eight days at Potter Manor. That would give each of them time to relax a bit and decompress from the stress of the past few weeks, as well as a chance to spend time with family. For Harry, it meant a chance to meet with Sirius and others about the Wizengamot meeting that had been called for Thursday.

With the exception of Hermione, each of them had been added to the wards at the manor, and could arrive via floo once Harry opened access. He had also added Susan and Amelia Bones, as well as Sirius. For Hermione, he planned to provide a portkey - he did not want to advertise her location by having her connected to the floo network, nor was that a conversation he necessarily wanted to have with her parents.

No other names were added to the wards, regardless of how long they may or may not have lived at the manor. Harry had summoned a Potter elf to make sure that the wards were locked down tight - he would take no chances, especially now.

When the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, Harry was already under his cloak. He said his goodbyes to the group, including the gift of another kiss from Susan, and made his way through the crowd to the muggle side of the platform. There, he wove through the late afternoon crowds to a small cafe near the station. In the cafe's loo, he took off the cloak and stashed it in his bag. The crowd was beginning to pick up with travellers returning home after a weekend's stay in London town. Even on a Sunday, there was no shortage of weary travellers hoping for a cup of tea and some scones.

Fortunately, he had a table reserved already. Taking his seat, Harry saw that tea and snacks had already been served.

"Thank you again for coming all this way, sir," he said, taking a much-needed sip from his cup.

Colonel Ramsay chuckled at the teenager. "Long day, was it?"

"You have no idea," was Harry's reply, as he reached for a scone.

Ramsay raised an eyebrow at that. "At least tell me there were no dragons involved this time?"

Harry briefly had the mental image of his father's angry features on little Norbert, the baby dragon Hagrid tried to raise in their first year. Perhaps it was the long train ride, or the release of tension after (temporarily) leaving the wizarding world, or simply the knowledge that he was speaking to the closest thing he would ever have to a true mentor. Whatever the reason, Harry found that he couldn't stop laughing.

oOoOoOoOo

The Rookwood family had lived in the west country for centuries. They did not have nor need a large manor house, preferring a simple mansion on a hill. A large house was a noticeable house, the patriarch had said at the time. That line of thinking was also part of the reason why the Rookwood family, despite a long enough history to qualify, had never been elevated to an ancient house. Where the Rookwoods went largely unnoticed, the Ancient House of Rookwood would not.

One could not discover secrets by getting noticed. It was a lesson Ambrose Rookwood had learned well.

Even with an old house on a hill, Augustus Rookwood had been overzealous with his wards. "Anything that can be done, can be overdone," he had said with a grin, when his son asked about the ward scheme.

Now those wards were in lockdown, having detected through magic the death of the head of house. Ambrose stood at the gate, his brown hair almost standing on end with the magic crackling in the air.

"I am Ambrose Rookwood," he said, addressing the family crest worked into the metal of the gate. "I am the head of house. Grant me entry!" The moment stretched out, and for an instant Ambrose wondered if it had worked. The grinding of metal answered his thought, and the old gate parted for him. Twenty minutes later, Ambrose had taken control of the wards, and could tell that the house had accepted him. The final step had been gaining entry into his father's study.

 _No,_ he thought. _It's my study now._

With a sigh, he sat down at his father's desk. From his robes, he took the letter he had gotten from Director Croaker of the Unspeakables. He tossed it onto the desk, dismissively, before leaning back in the old leather chair and closing his eyes.

The Director had been much more pleasant to him than he had any right to expect, after the way their meeting had gone.

" _I know you're exactly the sort of student we want in the Department of Mysteries, lad," the Director had said. Then came the hand on the shoulder, and the older man's face got that kind look - the sort of look one gets when they deliver bad news. "The truth is," the Director continued, "Your father betrayed several of his oaths by leading a group of death eaters into the Department, and then compounded the breach by actually attacking a group of Hogwarts students. If he hadn't been killed in the attack he helped stage, it's likely that his oaths would have done the job once his involvement was revealed."_

" _I'm not my father, Director Croaker, sir." Ambrose had replied, not sure what else to say._

" _I know that, and you know that. Augustus always spoke highly of you, and personally I was really looking forward to putting you through your paces." Croaker sighed, before continuing. "The reality of the situation is that I can't bring in the son of a death eater who was killed in the department he betrayed during the first war. Even though you deserve a place here, and would excel if given the chance, I'm afraid the Ministry will not allow it."_

" _I was under the impression that the Ministry had no direct say over your staff, sir." said Ambrose, working to keep his tone as polite as he could. No use in angering the Director._

 _Croaker looked conflicted - he clearly did not like the idea of any sort of interference. "Any other time, you'd be right. But for now, while Voldemort is active…" Croaker reached out, offering his hand. "Well, I'm sorry, kid. Let me know if there's anything I can do."_

 _He shook Croaker's hand automatically, excusing himself with empty phrases and polite words he needed no thought to produce. His feet carried him to the DMLE, where he filled out parchment to claim his father's remains. He would have to wait until the investigation was wrapped up, of course - probably several weeks, according to the clerk._

Looking around the study, Ambrose took in the knowledge his family had gathered over the years, the leatherbound tomes and journals and ledgers threatening to overflow the bookshelves that lined the room. His eyes went to the small, leather book sitting on his father's desk. Ambrose could detect the magic of it, the simple wards against intrusion that would prevent anyone but the head of house from reading what his father had written.

Ambrose placed his hand on the journal, and felt the magic accept him. More than anything else, that drove home that this was real. His father was truly gone.

"What do I do now, Da?" he asked, sadly. The answer was obvious, of course, when Ambrose took the time to think it over.

 _What do Rookwoods do best?_ Ambrose asked himself.

Out loud, his voice barely a whisper, he gave the only answer he could. "We plan." His decision made, Ambrose reached for parchment and a quill. He needed information, and knew just how to get it.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Ambrose Rookwood is an OC, seeing as much of what we know about the Rookwoods, and even Augustus Rookwood, is speculation at best. His role in the story will be an interesting one, I think.**

 **My beta on Keystone Council is in the midst of starting a new job, so that story will be slow in updating while she gets her feet underneath her. So, we'll just keep things moving toward the inevitable Wizengamot throwdown, which should be fun for the whole family.**

 **If you're reading this and left a review, thank you - I've been lax in responding, but I do read every comment and take them to heart. The discussion about the lack of criminal charges against the Potters (as yet) came from several review comments, asking about that very topic. Your feedback makes this story, and my other works as well, that much better. So, again, my thanks.**


	9. The Wizengamot

Not for the first time that day, Lily Potter found herself looking at her right hand, and the bare ring finger she found there. She had become the Lady Potter on her wedding day, just over two years before the attack at Godric's Hollow. When the Potters went into hiding, they had left the Lord and Lady's rings behind - the goblins would notice if the rings did not return to the family vault on their 'death'.

In all the years since, she had never really felt the absence of the Lady's ring. Not until today.

Her left hand still bore the ruby-encrusted heirloom ring James had given her on their wedding day. She remembered her surprise at how much the wedding vow mirrored the usual muggle version, and how that fact had helped calm her parents' fears about losing their daughter to this strange world.

It was not her wedding vow that ran through her thoughts this day.

 _I vow to support the House of Potter,_ the Consort's oath went. _I vow to serve the sons and daughters of my house, to teach them all that they must learn, to guide them in the family magics, to safeguard them with my magic and my life. I vow to offer wise counsel to the head of my house, to stand beside them in times of peace, and to guard their backs in times of war._ Lily closed her eyes, as the memories of the ceremony ran through her mind.

"As I say, so I swear," she whispered.

When the time came, it would be Jamie's betrothed who would wear the Lady's ring, just as Jamie would be the Lord. Thankfully, they had a long time before that became a concern. Had they had a daughter, she would have taken the oath James took, and her husband - if and when - would take the same oath Lily had taken. The Lord and Lady of the house had to support each other, to stand together in all things.

There was no magical compulsion forcing her to stand with her husband. It was just what had to be done.

Lily looked up at the vanity Sirius had placed in their room, and examined her features. Her robes were simple and elegant - ideal for being presented to the Wizengamot as the Lady Potter. She had none but the simplest jewelry, for this was not an occasion where a show of wealth was required. Instead, she was dressed as if she had business before the Wizengamot - which she did.

The war had begun in earnest, and Dumbledore needed every ally beside him if they were to win. That meant an active House of Potter, as a proxy could only go so far. He needed a forceful presence to speak with the voice of the Light. James was to be that voice.

It was more than a junior auror had expected to be, all those years ago. Dumbledore's plan, even then, had not accounted for the Wizengamot, and the politics of the war were never of great concern. His removal as Chief Warlock last summer had changed everything, however. Now, they needed to get him back into that position, and quickly, before Minister Fudge could be removed from office. Otherwise, the fear was that Fudge could put one of his own allies in as Chief Warlock, thus ensuring that the following Ministerial election would also go his way.

The only worse result would be electing Voldemort himself as Minister.

Lily worried about the speed of everything. Dumbledore would be revealing their return from exile, then minutes later calling them to take the Potter seat. It was Dumbledore who held the Proxy for the Potter vote, and thus could handle the change as a simple announcement - which prevented objections from anyone except the Potters or their Proxy. Then, James would stand before the members and rally them to Dumbledore's side.

If all went according to the Headmaster's plan, he would be voted in as Chief Warlock by acclamation. The fact that several members of the dark-aligned families remained in custody helped, as their votes could not be cast against Dumbledore. It was all happening quickly, only a week after the battle and their return - but Dumbledore said that they had no choice in the matter if they wanted to prevent Voldemort's latest attempt at gaining control.

She had been uneasy about the pace of events ever since their meeting with Harry. The way he spoke, the confidence he seemed to exhibit, told her that there was more going on than she knew. They had used the prophecy to guide their family for all this time, only to find that their younger son did not believe that it was a true prophecy? How could Dumbledore allow that?

Clearly, they had to reach out to their wayward son - Petunia could hardly have been expected to teach him about his place in the world. He hadn't even deferred to James - which worried her as well. James naming himself as Lord and Head of House should have forced Harry to comply, for the family magic would demand it. Instead, Harry had almost threatened his father. They had all been angry that night, but that moment was the one she played over and over in her mind.

Once James had the Lord's ring, and Jamie the Heir's, they could bring Harry back into the fold. Perhaps he would want to stay at Potter Manor this summer? Jamie needed to meet his soon to be housemates, so that he could start to build relationships. What better opportunity than their birthday? A joint party was just what the twins needed to reconnect.

Lily looked at her reflection in the mirror, and nodded to herself. Everything would be fine.

oOoOoOoOo

It was Sirius Black's third meeting as the Lord Black. His installation in April, shortly after his surprise exoneration, had been a whirlwind of handshakes and congratulations and well-wishers. The meeting in May had settled down somewhat, with polite greetings and a bit of conversation from members who wanted to get a feel for his positions on that day's agenda.

Today should have just been another routine meeting, but the agenda guaranteed that it would be anything but. The main business of the meeting was a briefing about the events of the previous week's battle, followed by a discussion ominously titled "Response to International Terrorism in Wizarding Britain". Most of the members did not associate one with the other, and focused their attention on Voldemort's appearance and subsequent retreat.

Sirius knew differently, of course. He glanced over at Madam Bones, who caught his eyes and gave him a slight nod, before returning to her conversation. It was all the confirmation he needed - Amelia planned to grab control of the war with both hands, and she was using the threat of the ICW to do it.

 _About time,_ he thought.

Tiberius Ogden, the Interim Chief Warlock, walked up the stairs to his place at the center of the room. When Dumbledore was removed from his position as Chief Warlock, Ogden had been the only member on whom both light and dark could agree. Unfortunately, he had planned on retiring that very day, and angrily told the members exactly what he thought about their nonsense. In one of the wisest political moves of his career, Cornelius Fudge had talked Ogden into taking the position on an interim basis, just until the summer began.

Fudge reasoned that Dumbledore would be thoroughly discredited by then, allowing him to pick anyone he wanted as Chief Warlock. Had the still-missing Umbridge done her job, it might have worked, even with Voldemort's public return. Now, of course, he would be lucky to survive the day.

Sirius watched the Potters slide into their seats in the visitor's gallery. They sat in the front row and kept their hoods up, giving no one a chance to get a good look at the newcomers. He saw James look up at him and give him a polite nod, which Sirius returned. Even after their argument that morning, James was still his friend. Would that be true after today?

 _As soon as James walked into the kitchen wearing robes fit for a Lord, Sirius knew it would be today._

" _James," he began. "Tell me you're not doing what I think you're doing?"_

" _Padfoot," replied James, patting his friend on the shoulder as he walked past to get a cup of coffee. "Dumbledore needs me in the Potter seat, so that's what I'm going to do." He looked up, and saw the expression on Sirius' face. "Why, what's wrong?"_

 _Sirius considered his response for a moment, before sighing. "I'm bound by an oath not to tell you everything, James, but what I can tell you is this - quite a lot has happened since you were gone and legally dead. For your own sake, for that of your family, you had better be absolutely sure you are doing the right thing."_

 _James' expression hardened. "Sirius, my family is why I'm doing this. Dumbledore needs me in the room, working to stop the death eaters in the 'gamot. Jamie deserves to wear the Heir's ring he's never had the chance to hold. Lily deserves to wear the Lady's ring once again, as is her right."_

 _Sirius gave his friend a sad smile. "And Harry?"_

" _I want my son back. As Lord, I can bring him home." He sat his mug down, his features softening. "Sirius, I know you've done the best you could with him, but this is a bridge we need to build together. He needs to be home."_

 _Sirius took a sip of his tea, steeling himself for the nundu in the room. "I could have done better with him if I hadn't been in prison, James."_

 _James winced at that. "I know, mate. I wish I could take that all back, and I would if I could."_

" _Would you?" Sirius asked, quietly. James clearly looked pained, but said nothing. "Can you at least tell me why you didn't say anything? Once Dumbledore knew, surely he could have done something?"_

 _Another pained look crossed James' face. "Dumbledore told us that he'd take care of it, Sirius."_

" _I see," was the reply. Then Sirius looked into James' eyes, trying to will his old friend to understand where he was coming from. "Doesn't that bother you? That he told you he'd get me out of prison, and he never did?"_

" _Maybe he tried and was stopped…" James began, but Sirius' expression stopped him._

" _Do you honestly believe that?" Sirius asked, his voice rising. "He lied to you, James. And I paid the price."_

" _He's Dumbledore," James said, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did._

 _Sirius stood, setting his cup on the table. "I think he's giving you bad advice, James. And I really hope that you don't end up paying the same price that I did." His hands on the table, Sirius leaned forward. "Because I guarantee you, it won't be Harry suffering anymore for the Headmaster's plots and plans."_

 _James' voice grew cold as his anger rose. "Harry will do as his Lord commands, if he knows what is good for him."_

 _Sirius shook his head. "If you don't know by now, then there's nothing I can do for you. All I can tell you, old friend, is that you'd better be sure you know what you're doing. Because some things simply can't be undone." Turning, he walked out of his kitchen, leaving a gobsmacked James Potter in his wake._

 _Neither of the men noticed Jamie Potter sitting in the corner._

oOoOoOoOo

Percy Weasley took the ceremonial gavel in his hand, and rapped it against his desk. He had opened meetings of the Wizengamot before, but the energy in the room made it clear that this would be no ordinary meeting. Placing his hand on the desk, Percy felt the magic of the chamber take hold - as the Clerk, he needed no sonorus charm, for the chamber provided its own magic to make his voice heard.

"All rise!" The scattered conversations quieted amidst the shuffling of robes and chairs, as the members of the Wizengamot rose. "This session of the Wizengamot of Great Britain and Ireland is called to order, the Right Honourable Tiberius Ogden presiding. May Magic guide these deliberations."

"So be it!" answered the members, responding out of long habit.

"Be seated," came the deep voice of the Chief Warlock, who remained standing at his podium. As the members took their seats, Ogden began his remarks. "Thank you, Mister Weasley. Members of the Wizengamot, we have been called here for an emergency session to deal with matters vital to the security of Wizarding Britain. Accordingly, the chair will entertain motions on the rules at this time." Seeing a signal to his left, Ogden nodded. "Lord Greengrass."

Lord Trevor Greengrass leaned forward in his seat, one of the few members who could get away with not standing to address the chamber. Despite his advanced age, his cane and wand were both as quick as ever, and the last member who had tried to call him out on his lack of decorum got hit with both. His son, Daniel, was busy running his import business, and his two granddaughters were still at Hogwarts, so the venerable Lord Greengrass continued to show up at the Wizengamot and make a bloody nuisance of himself, as he phrased it.

His sometimes cranky attitude had its fans among his colleagues, including Augusta Longbottom. Like the Lord Greengrass, the Regent Longbottom had little patience for ministry officials who thought they knew better than she did just because they had a title that she did not. The Greengrasses and the Longbottoms had long been close, and the genial working relationship between the two heads of house only reinforced that bond.

"Lord Ogden," began Lord Greengrass, "I move that we dispense with the reading of the minutes and notices, and proceed straight to the Minister's report on whatever the hell happened in the Ministry last week."

Ogden looked around the room, seeing nods from most of the members. "Any objections?" he asked.

Sirius stood, drawing looks from James Potter and Albus Dumbledore, neither of whom looked comfortable with the interruption. "Chief Warlock, at least one of the notices you will have received on Thursday last will be relevant to the reason for today's meeting, and House Black reserves the right to bring the matter up at that time." With that, he sat back down.

"Lord Black's point is noted," said Ogden, giving Sirius a look of his own. He had not reviewed the notices submitted to the Wizengamot, as they usually consisted of marriages and births and the like. In years past, families would announce feuds and contracts with a notice, but that practice had long fell into disuse. When no one else spoke, Ogden banged his gavel. "Without objection, so ordered." He turned to Minister Fudge. "The Minister of Magic has the floor for a briefing on the events of last Thursday. Minister Fudge."

Fudge rose, stepping to his own podium. His hands were shaking, and he fought hard to keep the nervousness out of his voice. His entire career, everything he had built, was riding on this meeting and this speech. As it had with Percy, the magic of the chamber amplified his voice, and he began to speak.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock. You will all receive a copy of the DMLE's report on last week's battle, so I will be brief. Twenty-three death eaters infiltrated the Ministry of Magic last Thursday, intending to set a trap for Harry Potter. Mister Potter arrived at the Ministry several hours later, along with five of his fellow students from Hogwarts. They were led to the Department of Mysteries, where the death eaters attempted to retrieve a prophecy involving the Dark Lord. During the fighting, twelve death eaters were killed, and eleven more were captured and taken into custody."

"During the battle, more death eaters appeared in the atrium, and did battle with the aurors who first responded to the incident. Among them was a pale-skinned wizard with red eyes and a yew wand. The man's magic was later identified as that of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." Despite the reporting in the Prophet, despite the appearance of Lord Voldemort being all anyone could talk about for the past week, hearing it confirmed from the Minister's lips was still a shock, and the gasps from the audience were proof.

"Albus Dumbledore engaged You-know-who in a duel in the atrium, during which another wizard came to his aid. When the Dark Lord found himself outnumbered, he fled." Fudge turned and looked at Dumbledore. "I'll defer to the Headmaster in a moment, as there is more of the story to tell, but I see there are questions?"

Ogden recognized Lady Ashbrook, who asked how the death eaters made it into the Department of Mysteries.

Fudge winced at that. "Augustus Rookwood was among the death eaters, and was one of those killed in the attack. He had served as an unspeakable during the first war, and took the dark mark in an effort to infiltrate that group - as confirmed by Director Theobald at the time. After the fall of the Dark Lord, he resigned from the department, though I am told he consulted on and off over the years."

"So he was a spy, but obviously not for us," she said, angrily.

Fudge sighed. "So it would seem." Ogden then recognized Narcissa Malfoy, sitting in the Malfoy seat as its proxy.

"Twelve witches and wizards are dead, Minister. Are there to be any charges against their killers?" Narcissa's voice was emotionless, and she was clearly exhausted. Her face was gaunt, and her hands were visibly shaking. Sirius' eyes narrowed at her, and he wondered if she was here voluntarily or if she had been given no choice in the matter.

"Madam Bones will speak to that in her report," said Fudge, happy to not be the one to talk about that. When several members objected, Ogden had to bang his gavel to restore order. Narcissa looked around the room, cringing from the angry shouts from her side of the chamber. Eventually, Lord Flint managed to get recognized by the chair.

"Lords and Ladies, are we about to let the Ministry of Magic finish what they tried to start fifteen years ago?" Flint banged on his desk, punctuating his words. "No we will not!" He held up a sheet of parchment, and Sirius recognized part of the DMLE report. "It's no secret that those of us who were branded by the Dark Lord bear the stigma of guilt even today, years later, when no evidence was ever presented against us apart from the mark. Look at the list of the dead and the 'captured'. Each one bore that same mark. Some, like Rookwood, may have had divided loyalties, but others were cleared of all wrongdoing. These wizards were caught up once more under the imperius curse, and I say they should be released immediately!"

The shouting resumed at that - not all of it against the idea. Sirius wondered if they would try to place the blame on Rookwood, who undoubtedly could have held several in his thrall. That they had a marked death eater making the request seemed to be a bold move, at first glance - but only if you did not know what was coming.

Flint did not stop there. "Furthermore, Minister Fudge, I demand that whoever killed these fine upstanding witches and wizards be brought before this body, so that we can hold their trial and sentencing without delay!" More shouts answered him, and some members seemed that they might come to blows.

It took the aurors several minutes to calm the room, and then only after they threatened to start removing the troublemakers. When Ogden restored order, he deferred to Madam Bones, who stood.

Dumbledore and James shared a glance, neither one knowing how a trial would change the situation with Harry. Dumbledore wondered if James would make an attempt to protect his son, even though Harry seemed to take every opportunity to antagonize his Lord and Head of House. James, meanwhile, was wondering how Madam Bones would frame the charges against Harry. Shack had mentioned that the ICW might have something to say about the battle, but surely they wouldn't protect Harry, not after he killed Bellatrix Lestrange in cold blood.

The Amelia Bones he had known would not let Harry off without some consequence. The only question now would be how bad it got. As she took her podium, James saw the look of satisfaction on her face - and realized that Flint had said exactly what she was expecting.

"Lord Flint," Madam Bones began. "The eleven marked death eaters captured last Thursday were all conducting an attack on the seat of our government. During this attack, they injured several ministry workers, stunned and restrained others, and attempted to use deadly force against six students, one of whom they tricked into coming to the Ministry. In short, Lord Flint, the eleven we captured, along with the twelve who died, were all terrorists."

"There's no proof of that!" Flint snarled. "And even if there were, prove to me they weren't under the imperius! You can't, can you?"

"As a matter of fact, I can't, Lord Flint," said Madam Bones, with an unnerving smile. Sirius shook his head at that look - it was the look she got when she was closing a case. She had set a trap, and Flint walked right into it. "You see, the International Confederation of Wizards declared the death eaters as a terrorist group three weeks ago. All eleven captured death eaters are under ICW jurisdiction now, far from these shores."

"Outrageous!" Flint shouted angrily. "Where are you keeping them?"

"I'm sure I have no idea, sir." was the calm reply. _As if we'd lead you to them,_ she thought.

oOoOoOoOo

"What about Potter?" an older wizard asked, from the back row.

Madam Bones' eyes narrowed at the question. "What about him, Lord Avery?"

The white-haired wizard stood, leaning heavily on his cane and placing his other hand on his desk. His deep voice came out in an angry rasp, but it commanded the attention of the members even so. Lord Robert Avery looked every one of his hundred and twenty years, but Sirius could see that the man's eyes were still as sharp as ever.

"My son is dead," Avery began. "He apparated into the Department of Mysteries to assist in the defence of that part of the Ministry, as any capable wizard might. Within seconds of his appearance, Harry Potter cast a reducto that nearly took off his head. He drowned in his own blood on the floor of the Ministry." With a growl, Lord Avery struck his desk with his fist, the sound reverberating around the now quiet chamber.

"House Avery demands justice!" He shouted. "We demand that the liar and coward Harry Potter be brought here to stand trial for the cold blooded murder of my son. And when that's done, I want him kissed!"

Sirius rose to his feet. "Madam Bones, I'd like to respond to Lord Avery, if I might." Amelia found his eyes, and saw his slight nod. _It's time,_ she realized.

"By all means, Lord Black," she responded, gesturing to Sirius. The room grew quiet once again, as the members looked to Sirius.

 _Here goes nothing,_ he thought.

"Lords and Ladies, Harry Potter will not submit himself to this body for judgment over his actions in the Department of Mysteries, nor will any of the other five students who fought at his side."

"Is your precious boy-who-killed above the law?" shouted Avery in disgust.

Sirius turned his gaze to the older wizard, and smiled at him. "No, My Lord, Harry Potter is fully aware of the law. That is why he will not stand trial, you see." He held up the DMLE report. "You just heard Madam Bones tell us that the ICW has declared the death eaters as nothing more than a group of terrorists, but what you did not hear is that it is perfectly legal to stun, capture, or even kill a terrorist if you catch them committing an act of terror."

Flint scoffed. "What business does the ICW have telling us how to enforce our laws?"

"Quite a lot, Lord Flint," answered Madam Bones. "Seeing as how we are unable to do anything to prevent these attacks, they have made it clear that they will do what we cannot."

Avery and Flint shared a glance, as did several over members on their side of the room. "Fine," said Avery. "But what of Potter? He's not some foreign busybody, now is he?" He pointed at Sirius, as his voice grew louder. "He killed a bound and silenced witch, just to watch her die. The boy is a criminal!"

Sirius almost thanked the man for setting up his speech so well. "Harry Potter had absolutely every right to act as he did last week, under this body's own laws."

"We never permitted schoolchildren to commit murder!" shouted Flint.

"Lord Ogden, I would like to read a copy of the notice from Thursday last, in accordance with the old ways." Sirius lifted the parchment and looked at the Chief Warlock, waiting.

A few of the members knew what the old ways entailed, and busily tried to figure out who had found themselves in a feud with Sirius Black. Flint angrily objected, thinking that Sirius was delaying the trial. Ogden quieted the room, and then told Sirius to proceed.

Nodding his thanks, Sirius made a show of reading from the parchment. "Whereas the last son and heir of an ancient house has repeatedly attempted to slay the last son and heir of my house, and whereas the heir to my house has fought off these attacks on multiple occasions, and whereas the sworn allies of that house have also made attempts on the heir of my house, even forcing their children to engage in physical and magical attacks, and whereas the Minister of Magic has seen fit to abdicate his duty to remove this threat to Wizarding Britain," Here, Sirius paused, taking a moment to make eye contact with James, who had a puzzled look on his face. _I did try to warn you,_ Sirius thought to himself.

Clearing his throat, Sirius continued. "Now Therefore I, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, do hereby declare that a blood feud exists between my house and the Ancient House of Gaunt. In accordance with the old ways, House Potter vows to remove the threat to its peace and safety by any means necessary."

Sirius looked up at Lord Flint, who glared angrily back at him. Without looking away, Sirius recited the notice from memory. "Given the actions of the marked followers of the heir to the House of Gaunt, the House of Potter extends the feud to all who swear allegiance to Tom Marvolo Riddle, the son and heir of the House of Gaunt, also known as the coward Voldemort."

Silence filled the chamber. Any other mention of the Dark Lord would have resulted in gasps, at the very least - but not today. At the mention of a blood feud, the room remained silent. It had been many years since a dispute had escalated in this fashion, and only the oldest among the members remembered the last such feud. That feud had been called over a broken engagement, and ended with a duel and two maimed but living heirs.

This one would be worse, by far - and already was, if the twelve dead from the battle were any indication.

The light families were troubled that Harry had taken this big of a step, particularly without consulting Dumbledore. The Headmaster's look of utter shock told the tale - this had been a surprise, and an unwelcome one. Despite being at the Ministry, despite participating in the battle, Dumbledore had known nothing of a blood feud. Before he could even respond, he heard Sirius revealing Voldemort's true name before the Wizengamot. Revealing Tom Riddle as the name of the Dark Lord was not a step to be taken lightly, and Dumbledore had planned to delay the revelation until a time when the reveal could be used for maximum effect, and here was Sirius blurting it out almost as an afterthought.

Then Dumbledore heard that the sworn allies of the Dark Lord were included in the feud. Harry Potter was declaring war on the death eaters - and Dumbledore could do nothing to stop it, not after it had been announced and formally declared. _How could Harry have taken up the Lordship? How is this possible?_

It was then that Dumbledore's eyes caught those of James Potter - and he realized that James was as shocked as he was. James Potter had heard his youngest son named Lord Potter, and had fought hard not to shout at Sirius. This was not the reveal they had planned, of that he was certain.

Ogden had seen Dumbledore's reaction, and leaned over to a shaken Percy Weasley, quietly asking him to verify the name of the current Lord Potter. Percy tapped his desk with his wand, and examined the parchment that appeared. Wordlessly, he looked up at Ogden and nodded.

"The notice from the Proxy for the House of Potter is recognized," said Ogden. That statement seemed to shake the members out of their shock, and the shouts began again. When Ogden had the chamber in order, he saw that Dumbledore had risen to speak.

"Chief Warlock, I must object!" Dumbledore said, still raising his voice to be heard. "Allowing this feud would lead to open warfare and even more senseless death, we cannot let it stand."

Sirius did not wait for Ogden to recognize him before replying. "I beg your pardon, Headmaster, but House Potter is not asking for permission, they are openly declaring their intentions. Why should an ancient and most noble house not defend itself, sir?"

Dumbledore put on his best 'disappointed' voice, giving Sirius a pitying look. "Some of those sworn allies you plan to hunt down and murder are guilty of no crime, Lord Black." He shook his head. "Surely you, of all people, would recognize what it means to pass sentence without a trial."

"I know all too well what you mean, Headmaster." replied Sirius.

Flint stood at that. "So your boy is just going to kill the death eaters he doesn't like? How can we allow that?"

"He's not my boy, Flint. He's the Lord Potter." Sirius leaned on his desk, pointing at Lord Flint. "Look, if you're so bloody worried about getting targeted unfairly just because you happen to be marked as a member of an active terrorist organization, then today has all the makings of your lucky day." He gestured at the floor of the Wizengamot chamber. "Stand forth and swear on your magic that you do not support Voldemort." Sirius ignored the gasps at the name, and stared Flint down. "Swear an oath that you are not a supporter of the death eaters, that you do not support their efforts to subvert the Ministry." Sirius punctuated his speech with a fist on his desk. "Swear an oath, and you have nothing to fear from House Potter or House Black."

Flint seemed to turn white, as all eyes in the chamber turned to him. His fellow death eaters knew exactly what he was thinking - if he failed to swear the oath, he would be suspect. If the Potter boy was serious, then Flint would now be a target. On the other hand, publicly taking an oath repudiating the Dark Lord was an even riskier proposition.

Lord Flint panicked. He knew what the Dark Lord would do, and did not think the Potter boy could make good on his threats. Without saying another word, Flint sat down.

Lord Greengrass shared a look with Madam Longbottom, who nodded. They would have quite a lot to discuss after today's meeting.

Exasperated at the display, Dumbledore looked to Ogden. "How can you allow this, Tiberius?"

Ogden looked down at the Headmaster from the Chief Warlock's seat he had once held, and shook his head. "You will address the chair as Chief Warlock or My Lord, Mister Dumbledore," said the Chief Warlock. It was the first time Dumbledore had been so publicly scolded in decades, and it did not go without notice. Ogden glanced at Sirius, and saw the Lord Black nod in response. "I believe a recess is in order at this time, to allow the Potter Proxy to bring the Headmaster up to date. Thirty minutes!" And with that, Ogden banged the gavel.

oOoOoOoOo

It did not take long to reach the offices of the House of Potter. As with all members of the Wizengamot, Lord Potter had been given an office near the chambers. It was a space that allowed the member to floo to and from the Ministry as needed, or to change into official robes without going home first. The office was also useful for meetings, meals between sessions, or the usual politicking that members had engaged in for centuries.

Dumbledore had been to these offices many times over the years. James, too, had been there on occasion, as had Lily. For Jamie, it was his second time in the Ministry ever, the first being the battle.

Today, it would be where the group met Lord Potter.

Sirius paused at the doorway, his eyes turning to James. "Just remember, I tried to warn you." Before he could get a response, Sirius pushed the office doors open, revealing Lord Potter in his official robes of office.

James wasted no time. "You!" Only Lily's hand on his arm kept him from drawing his wand. "How DARE you!"

Harry watched his father's rage, his arms folded across his chest. Lily seemed more focused on controlling James, which simply meant that Sirius didn't need to do so. Jamie did not look as surprised as he might have, and Harry made a mental note to discuss that with him sometime - it hinted that he was smart, which made sense if he was Harry's twin, but was not a given.

Dumbledore was furious, to no one's surprise. What did catch Harry's eye was that the Headmaster was making no effort to hide his emotions, which was quite unusual. _I didn't think we'd shake him this badly,_ Harry thought to himself.

"Let's have a seat," Harry said quietly, indicating the couches in the center of the room. "We have a lot to discuss."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **This chapter grew in the telling, to the point where I had to split it into two to make it work. Even then, both will be longer than the other chapters to date. While this largely follows my outline, there are details and elements included that were (correctly!) pointed out in reviews. In short, your feedback continues to improve this story, so thank you again for your reviews and notes.**

 **Special thanks to Grimjaw and Leyrann, who gave this chapter a read through and a sanity check before it was posted. Leyrann is the author of the excellent "The Advantages of Being Sane", here on ffn. Absolutely worth a read.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	10. The Fallout

As Sirius Black, Headmaster Dumbledore, and the others made their way out of the chamber, Augusta Longbottom leaned over to Neville, who sat on her right in the heir's seat. "Quite a show, isn't it?"

Neville could only nod at the understatement. "It was bad enough now, think of how it would have gone with Harry making the announcement."

"True," she conceded. She glanced over at her grandson, thinking back to the stories he had told about the previous Thursday's events. She knew, and he knew that she knew, that what he didn't say was almost as important as what he did. Now, having heard the notice, another part of the story clicked into place.

"Whose floo did you use to file the notices last week?" she asked. Neville sighed, before looking back at his grandmother.

"We used Madam Umbridge's, Gran."

"I see," Augusta said. "You know, the Minister was quite put out when she resigned. He said it was unlike her."

"Was it, now?" replied Neville, his expression unreadable.

"So he said," she allowed. "The woman didn't even come back to clear out her office."

"Serves her right," came a voice on Augusta's left. Turning, she saw Lord Trevor Greengrass approaching. "Hello Augusta, Neville," he said in greeting.

"Trevor," answered Augusta, indicating the visitor's seat, which the elderly lord took gratefully. "What does House Greengrass think of all this?"

Greengrass gave her a grin. "House Greengrass thinks that it's about damn time someone stepped up and fought back." He pointed at Neville with his cane. "I hear it isn't just Potter who's decided to take a stand, is it lad?"

Neville straightened in his chair, ignoring the raised eyebrow from his gran. "No, sir, it's not."

A look of worry crossed Augusta's features. "Neville?"

"He's my brother, Gran, the closest thing I'll ever have to one," Neville replied, quietly. "He killed Bella for me, for us." He looked over at Lord Greengrass. "For Trevor." Greengrass closed his eyes at the mention of his namesake, the poor murdered twin of the Longbottom heir.

Neville kept his voice firm, lest his emotion creep in. "I would follow Harry Potter into hell, if he asked me. Because I know he'd do the same for me."

"No small thing, being involved in a blood feud." Greengrass remarked, quietly.

"No, sir, it's not." agreed Neville. "And if it's just me standing there next to Harry, then that's how it will be." He looked evenly at his grandmother, the Regent Longbottom, willing her to understand his unspoken request.

After a long moment, she nodded. "That will be unnecessary, Neville." She smiled at Neville's grin. "Far be it from me to say no to the future Lord Longbottom."

Both turned at the laugh from Lord Greengrass. "Daphne was right about you, young man." It was Neville's turn to raise his eyebrow, which amused the older wizard even more. "She told me years ago that the Longbottom Heir was a lion in sheep's clothing. I'm glad to see how right she was."

Neville nodded in response, acknowledging the compliment. He and Daphne had hardly interacted this past year, barely finding time to study together. She tutored him in charms, sometimes reinforcing the lessons with Harry, while he helped her in Herbology. _I'll have to find time to write to her this summer,_ he mused.

Lord Greengrass seemed to be thinking along the same lines, for he chuckled at Neville's reaction. "Come visit me this summer, Neville," he said casually. "Before your birthday, if you can." _The boy will be turning sixteen, after all,_ thought Lord Greengrass. _As will Daphne. It's time._

Another nod from Neville. "Of course, sir." He did not see the knowing smile on the face of his grandmother.

oOoOoOoOo

The tension was thick in the air in the Potter offices, as father glared at son. Harry remained next to the Lord's desk, leaning casually against the wooden surface, his arms folded across his chest.

"Let's have a seat," Harry said quietly, indicating the couches in the center of the room. "We have a lot to discuss."

"I have NOTHING to say to you, boy!" snarled James. How dare this boy presume to take over the Lordship - he was the youngest son, he had no rights here but those that James granted him, how could this be?

"Yes, well, I have quite a lot to say to you, sir, so you will sit down and be silent." Harry did not raise his voice once, but James felt a chill go through him at his younger son's tone. Then his eyes grew wide, and he realized where he had felt that before - long ago, when his father had been Lord. It was not a compulsion, nor was it anything like the imperius - but when the Lord of your house gave you a command, in his official capacity as Lord, you _felt_ it. The effect was unmistakable, and he had felt it in his core when his son - his _youngest_ son - ordered him about.

James' hand came to rest on the leather of the couch, and he found that he had seated himself without noticing it. His eyes met Harry's, and if he could have killed with his glare alone his son would be a dead man. He ignored the others as they, too, took seats.

Harry had the gall to chuckle at his father's reaction. "You see that I'm not just pretending, don't you?" He held up his hand, displaying the Lord's ring. "The Lord of my house was legally dead, and magic confirmed it. The Lady of my house was legally dead, and magic confirmed that. The Heir to the House was dead, and in point of fact I never knew he existed, so magic was never asked to confirm that - but it did anyway. There are no others." He kept his eyes on his father. "I was the last son of the House of Potter."

"You're only fifteen," began Dumbledore. "This responsibility is beyond you, my boy."

"Ah, yes, signing paperwork to assign Sirius as my proxy was quite overwhelming, you're right about that." Harry said, pleasantly. "Almost as much as having to fight a dragon, for example."

"What are you talking about?" asked Lily.

"The Headmaster, on behalf of the Ministry and in his official capacity as Chief Warlock, declared me as one of the Champions of the Triwizard Tournament during my fourth year. The Headmaster, acting in place of my guardian, the Lord Black, accepted my entry into the tournament. Barty Crouch, on behalf of the Ministry, confirmed my selection. Thus, I was forced into a tournament for of-age wizards despite being fourteen years old at the time."

"I told you, my boy, that you had no choice in the matter," said Dumbledore. He was frantically trying to find a way out of this mess, but talking Harry into giving up the Lordship would be difficult - especially since it seemed he had been Lord for some time.

"That may be, but there were any number of ways I could have gotten out of it, had you truly been an advocate on my behalf. You could have held simple tasks to get the three required tasks out of the way, and then have a new tournament with the three actual champions." Harry shook his head. "You could have simply done your job and declared me ineligible, but you didn't. Instead, Cedric Diggory died and Voldemort came back."

"I don't understand," said Jamie, trying to calm things down. Harry looked at his brother and shrugged.

"Through indifference, intrigue, or sheer malice, or maybe all three, I was declared to be an of-age wizard. And, if you'll recall, all of the other members of my house were dead." Harry held up his hand, showing the ring. "So the family magic allowed me to take up the Lord's ring."

"You can't be Lord Potter," said James, menace in his tone.

Harry considered him for a moment. "Who else, if not me?"

James fought down his anger. "I am the Lord Potter, I am entitled to lead my house."

Harry again shook his head. "You abandoned me to a life of torture and deprivation, sir. You ensured that I would receive no instruction in the ways of our house, that I would not even know about magic itself until I was 'rescued' by the Headmaster - and then I was placed in even more danger than I had been in before!" Harry's anger was beginning to surface, now, and Lily realized just how badly they had underestimated the depth of their son's feelings about his fate so far.

"Think back to your oath, James Potter, and tell me why I shouldn't strip you of your magic right now, as an oathbreaker and a coward." James, stunned, looked at Dumbledore - which only enraged Harry further. "Don't look at the Headmaster, goddammit, look at me! NOW!" His angry shout seemed to shake the room, and Sirius' eyes grew wide at the feat.

 _A wandless, wordless sonorus? Merlin,_ he thought.

James felt the magic work on him, and he turned his gaze to his son - to the Lord of his House. Harry stood there, leaning against the Lord's desk, fury in his green eyes. James wanted badly to reach for his wand - not to hex Harry, but because it looked like Harry was about to hex _him_.

"I don't know what the hell you thought you were doing when you abandoned me, James Potter, and right now I don't particularly care. The fact of the matter is that you can't be trusted to guide the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter. Simple as that." Harry heard a whimper, and turned to look at Lily, who seemed as if she wanted to cry. Jamie, for his part, simply watched his brother with his mouth open and shock in his eyes.

oOoOoOoOo

Sirius could see the Headmaster trying to work out how he might take control of the situation. _Too late, Albus,_ he thought.

"Harry," Dumbledore began, but a raised hand cut him off.

"Headmaster, you've done quite enough, I think." Harry replied, coldly.

"May I attempt to explain?" He asked, not wanting to allow Harry to control the conversation.

"So sorry," said Harry, turning his gaze to the Headmaster. "But no, you may not." He looked at Sirius. "We're short on time, aren't we?"

Sirius nodded. "We should be heading back soon, yes."

"Alright," Harry replied, before looking back at his parents. "Here's what's going to happen. Madam Potter, I'm holding you to your oath, for the moment. For now, stay out of my way."

Gathering herself, she nodded to her son. Her response scared her, even as she spoke the words, for it meant that everything had changed. "Yes, My Lord."

"Lily," hissed James, when he heard her acknowledgement.

"James Charlus Potter, Junior," continued Harry, ignoring his father. "All of this was decided for you years ago, and you have done nothing of which I am aware that might be a betrayal of the House of Potter." Harry watched as the tension seemed to leave Jamie at that pronouncement - he had worried when he heard how angry Harry had been. "Enjoy your summer, Jamie. We'll talk before long, I suspect."

Jamie nodded, following his mother's lead. "Yes, My Lord."

James sputtered in rage, but said nothing. Harry turned his attention to his father.

"James Charlus Potter, Senior," he began. "As Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, you abandoned, or caused to be abandoned, the Heir Secondary of your house, leaving them to a life of abuse and neglect. I could, if I so wished it, declare you to be in violation of the Lord's Oath."

"Harry, you can't do this!" Dumbledore's shouted admonishment drew Harry's focus to him, which had been his intent. _Harry cannot be allowed to destroy everything,_ Dumbledore thought. _He cannot take James' magic!_

"I am the Lord of my House, Professor Dumbledore," Harry said. "And all week I've tried to come to grips with the fact that I have a brother and parents, a true family. A family that was kept secret by you, sir." His voice dripped with disappointment as he spoke, so much so that Lily almost began crying again. "And then I thought to myself, going over all of the events of the past five years. The tests, the lies, the abandonment," Here, Harry raised his scarred hand, displaying the wounds left by Umbridge's blood quill. "The tortures."

He ignored the reactions of his 'family', and the renewed anger on Sirius' face, and kept his gaze on the Headmaster, who remained defiant. "You, however, have never taken an oath to defend the interests of House Potter, have you, Headmaster? So, it seems - for the moment, that I'm not in a position to take any action toward you."

"I have never sought to harm your family, Harry," Dumbledore replied.

"Yet he trusted you," Harry said angrily, indicating with a nod toward James. "He trusted you, and you somehow convinced him to break an oath on his life and magic. Do you even realize what you've done?" Harry pointed at his father, and his voice grew in volume and intensity. "That man trusted you, and at your direction he fucked up badly enough that I could demand his very life for the offense!"

"Harry," said James. Harry turned to him, his eyes full of the anger he felt. James saw it, but continued anyway. "I had no choice in the matter, son." He tried to sound regretful, with little success. "Everything we did was for the cause of the light."

Harry stared at him. If he had expected a justification, that wasn't what he got. "The Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House can have but one priority - guaranteeing the safety and security of their family. Every decision, every word, every deed, must be focused on that singular purpose." He looked from his father to his mother, and then to his brother. Turning back to James, he saw that the man was looking down at the rug, his fists clenching and flexing as if he was fighting the urge to lash out.

Dumbledore said nothing. He simply stared at Harry, at the young Lord Potter. How Harry had learned so much in so short a time was beyond him, though he began to understand when Harry spoke about the priority of a Lord - for that was a quote from a speech on the floor of the Wizengamot by none other than Charlus Potter. Harry, it seemed, was at least taking his role as Lord Potter seriously.

After a moment, Harry spoke again. "Fortunately for you, sir, it would seem that we're now in an open conflict against the forces of Lord Voldemort. So, you get a break."

James looked up. "I beg your pardon?"

"You will work against the death eaters as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. You will see to the safety of yourself, your wife, and your oldest son. You will take no action against myself or Sirius as a result of today's revelations." The air seemed to cool noticeably as Harry set his conditions. James listened intently, his expression unreadable. "You will consider yourself under probation for the duration of the war."

James Potter wanted to vomit, such was his disgust with the situation. Even if it was just temporary - and he was, in his heart, convinced that it was but a temporary setback - the idea of obeying his youngest son as if he were Lord was offensive. But the Lord's ring commanded respect, and he replied to his son in the only way he could.

Nodding, James said the words. "Yes, My Lord."

"What if he fails?" asked Lily, in a deceptively calm voice. "What if he does something not to your liking?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at the question. "If he wishes to keep his magic, he won't."

James rose, walking slowly toward Harry. All eyes in the room went to him, and Lily's breath caught in her throat. "I just agreed to everything you asked of me, Harry, despite the fact that you have no right to ask it." He took another step, continuing to speak quietly. "I allow your godfather to humiliate the Headmaster on the floor of the Wizengamot chamber, clearly at your behest, because we share the goal of fighting the death eaters." Another step. "We could have stayed hidden, you know. We could have kept Jamie in solitude, away from all of this, and just watched as you all burned. But no, we came back." Another step. "We came back for you, my son."

James stepped forward one last time, stopping only a meter away from Harry. For his part, Harry watched the man approach, seeing no tension in his movements, hearing no violence in his tone.

The sharp crack of James backhanding Harry across the face shocked them all, Harry more than anyone.

"We gave up EVERYTHING!" James shouted. "And you speak to me of BETRAYAL?"

Harry stared into the angry eyes of his father. His left hand went to his now bleeding left cheek, coating his fingertips with blood. Looking down, he saw his father's wedding ring, with its understated diamond stones now tinged red. He turned his eyes to his father's, and Lily gasped.

She had seen that look in his eyes, for just an instant - but it was the same look, the same glare. It was the same utter hatred in his features that he had shown moments before executing Bellatrix Lestrange with his bare hands. That was the look he gave his father, and that fact - more than anything else that had happened - chilled her to the core.

It seemed as if the others in the room held their breath. His hand still on his cheek, Harry Potter spoke.

"I never really believed it, you know. Not once. Not until today." He let out a sad little chuckle, rubbing his fingertips together, as if to wipe away the blood.

"Harry," began James, his expression softening, as if he had realized that he had gone too far.

"The Dursleys were right after all," Harry said, as if to himself, his eyes on his fingertips. "Who would have thought that?" Without looking at anyone else, Harry Potter turned and left the room.

James Potter remained where he stood, the magnitude of his error dawning on him. He looked to the one person present who might intercede with the Lord Potter on his behalf. "Padfoot?"

"No, James," Sirius replied. "Not this time." No one missed the fact that the marauder did not call James by his marauder name - a clear sign of the Lord Black's disapproval. The only comfort James took was the fact that Sirius remained in the room at all.

Dumbledore looked over at Lily, as her sobs broke the silence that followed Sirius' dismissal. Jamie was sitting next to her, an arm around her shoulders. He looked up at his father, worry etched into his features.

"What did he mean, Dad?" asked Jamie. "What did the Dursleys say?" James looked at his son, and said nothing.

It was Sirius who answered, as he leaned against the arm of the couch he had vacated. "When Harry was growing up, Jamie, he was told that his parents had been killed in a car accident." He looked at his friend's son, his godson's brother, and sighed. "He grew up thinking that his father was a shiftless layabout. Petunia told him that his father probably beat his mother, her sister, and that that was the only reason she would stay with such a worthless husband."

He looked over at his friend, who stood there aghast at what he had done. Sirius shook his head again, before continuing.

"And in one instant, one solitary moment, your father proved them right."


	11. The Healers

When the Wizengamot resumed its meeting, Augusta Longbottom was surprised to see that only Sirius Black had returned to the chamber. She suspected that Neville had been right about their purpose here - Dumbledore had planned to reinstate James as Lord Potter, and then have Lord Potter lead the vote to return him to the Chief Warlock's post before anyone could get their head around the fact that James Potter was alive, somehow.

It wasn't an awful plan, as such things go, if one ignored the sheer ruthlessness of hiding the Lord of an Ancient and Most Noble House for fifteen years.

With Harry as Lord Potter, of course, that plan was out the window - and, thus, they no longer had any reason to return to the chamber. What truly caught Augusta's attention, though, was the fact that Dumbledore didn't return, either. Nor was she the only one who noticed his absence.

Madam Bones took the floor once the meeting resumed, and went over what they knew about Voldemort's return. Fudge, wisely, said nothing, hoping that no one noticed his presence. With everyone's attention on the DMLE Director, and on the newly-declared blood feud, it was possible that he would escape with his job.

Augusta watched the faces of the members as Madam Bones continued her prepared remarks. It was clear, just from the expressions, which members had read the DMLE report on the battle, and which had not. For all of them, the reality was starting to sink in - the Death Eaters had attacked the Ministry, in force. The members who believed the propaganda of the past year were stunned to learn that Dumbledore had been right, after all, and that the Ministry had _lied_ to them. The ones who had believed the Headmaster, meanwhile, did not feel vindicated.

Who rejoices at the start of a new war?

Amelia Bones knew how to read the room, and knew exactly what she had to say to reassure the chamber. No one, on either side, could mistake the fact that her demeanor had shifted at a fundamental level. Augusta knew the reason - it was obvious, when you took the time to think about it.

Director Bones was giving a wartime speech - likely the first of many. It shook people, when they figured it out. It would have shaken Augusta, had she not expected it. The older members, the ones who had been here, all recognized the shift in tone - they remembered these speeches, in the dark days of the first war.

Augusta sighed at that thought - the _first_ war. That they even needed a qualifier to distinguish the first war from the second was appalling, and yet here they were.

When the session was adjourned, Augusta noticed several of the dark-aligned members rushing out of the chamber, led by Lord Flint. Clearly, they had much to discuss. She wondered if Madam Bones or Lord Black would be receiving owls from some of those who bore the dark mark, begging for mercy. Neville had told her about the parley with one of his year mates, the Crabbe boy, whose father died in the battle - and had hinted that the Parkinson family might also consider their options carefully. Would other families follow their lead? Only time would tell.

"It's not even two in the afternoon," Neville said to himself, as he watched the chamber empty. He turned to Augusta. "Gran, would you care if I went and saw Mom and Dad for a bit?"

In all the excitement of the past week, the Longbottoms had not yet made their usual trip to Saint Mungo's to visit Frank and Alice. They had talked about going the next day, but Neville was correct - it was early enough in the day to make the trip possible. Augusta, however, needed to meet with Lord Greengrass and others to discuss the day's events.

Smiling at her grandson, she nodded. "Do not be there too long, Neville. Straight home afterwards."

Neville grinned. "Of course, Gran. Thank you!" And with that, he was on his way out of the chamber.

oOoOoOoOo

James Potter hissed as the healer worked on his hand. His left hand sat in his lap, still tinged red with his son's blood. It was his right hand that required attention, for after Sirius had left the office James had slammed his fist onto the oaken desk. He left no mark on the desk, and earned himself a sprained wrist for his trouble.

Fortunately, Headmaster Dumbledore knew how to summon one of the Ministry's healers. Fiona Martin was a little older than the Potters, with dirty blonde hair kept quite short and a kindly manner that put patients at ease.

Jamie Potter sat quietly, watching his parents from his place on the couch. The argument his father had had with Sirius that morning made a lot more sense now, with Sirius revealed as the proxy for House Potter. Even constrained by an oath not to reveal secrets, Sirius had tried to warn James that he was making a mistake. Jamie had seen it, clear as day - everything that Sirius didn't say made it obvious what he was getting at.

 _Dad just went on ahead,_ Jamie thought. His dad had always been a Gryffindor's Gryffindor, but even that didn't justify the lack of caution he had seen from his father. He had known, from the moment he and Harry spoke in the atrium, that the situation wasn't what they had been told - but it was almost as if James was ignoring everything he heard and saw, and just sticking to the plan. _Why?_

Lily, too, was concerned about her husband's actions - but for vastly different reasons.

"I need to fix this," James said, almost to himself. "I'm just glad Harry didn't try to force the issue about the oath." He looked over at the Headmaster. "I don't think it would have worked, but then again, I'm not eager to find out."

Before Dumbledore could respond, Lily snorted. "You didn't see it at all, did you?" Off the confusion on her husband's face, she continued. "James, he walked out because if he stayed, he would have fought you."

"He wouldn't dare," began James, but the look on Lily's face stilled the rant before it began.

"James Potter, you didn't see him in the Ministry. I did. I was looking at him as he killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and he was giving you that same look." She shivered in spite of herself. "For just a moment there, he looked at you with pure hatred."

"That doesn't mean he would attack me," argued James.

"Oh yes it does," snapped Lily. "Jamie does that exact thing, if you'll remember. He storms off and fights a training dummy, or goes off to the cottage, rather than venting his anger on us." She looked her husband in the eye. "How can you not see it?"

James chose not to answer.

"Well," began Dumbledore, "At least we will have a chance to discuss how to calm the situation down, and perhaps bring Harry back into the fold."

"Not really," said Jamie, quietly.

"I'm sorry?" asked Dumbledore, not sure if he had heard Jamie correctly.

Jamie knew that he had never questioned the Headmaster before, certainly not since he began visiting their home regularly in preparation for their return. But as he watched the conversation, he realized that the Headmaster was making the same mistakes his father had - sticking to the plan after the plan was proven to be flawed.

"We came back, thinking we'd welcome Harry home - and that he would welcome us. But we have nothing to offer him." He looked at his parents, before returning his focus to the Headmaster. "We planned to offer him a home, but he has one with Sirius. We planned to offer him our support, but he has a Lordship - he needs no support from us. Not our galleons, of which we have none, nor our home, of which we seem to have none other than Falcon's Rest - which he can't even see because of how it's hidden."

Jamie sighed as he saw the look of confusion on the face of his father. "The only thing we can give him is a family, but I doubt that's going to happen anytime soon, now." He gestured at his father's hand, still bloodied. "Harry offered us a beginning - live and let live, or something like it - and you slapped him in the face."

"Jamie," began Dumbledore, but the boy cut him off.

"No, sir," Jamie said. "You keep talking about bringing Harry back into the fold, but there's literally no reason he would ever agree to that. Especially now."

"How would you know?" asked James, bitterly.

Jamie shook his head. "Because if I were in Harry's place, I'd probably want nothing to do with you, after today." He sighed again. "I'm honestly surprised that you do still have your magic."

The group sat quietly after that, digesting what Jamie had said. Healer Martin was packing her bag and preparing to leave when James screamed in pain. As they watched, he clutched his chest and fell out of his chair.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry did not have a destination in mind as he walked down the corridors of the Wizengamot offices. All he knew is that he couldn't be around his parents right now, or he'd do something he'd regret.

One of the hardest lessons he had learned from Colonel Ramsay was that angry commanders were rarely effective commanders. War is exertion and deprivation and pain and hunger and death, and it is impossible to remove emotion from the equation entirely. And in the heat of battle, with boots on the ground, it was not always wise to do so. When considering the overall strategy of a campaign, however, you had to do exactly that.

Harry knew that if he had stayed in that room, his father would be dead or squibbed.

It might be that that is what has to happen, eventually, to ensure his own safety. If James Potter could not live with his other son, his discarded son, as Lord Potter, then that was unfortunate. If James Potter tried to force the issue, then Harry would raise the Lord's ring and say the words, and James Potter would be judged against his oath, and that would be the tale of him.

He did not want to execute his father. Despite everything, part of him really did want to reconnect with his family. But that part was overruled by his commitment to protecting his house - and that meant dealing with Voldemort once and for all. If James Potter was a hindrance toward accomplishing that goal, then James Potter would have to be dealt with.

All of that is to say that Harry had thought long and hard about how to handle the situation with James Potter. But right then, in that moment, as he stormed out of his own office and down the corridor, Harry Potter wanted to take his father's magic and have done.

He saw an open office as he turned the corner, and realized that it was the office of the Regent Bones. The Bones office was rarely used, since Madam Bones preferred to work out of her office at the DMLE, but this day Harry saw Susan waiting for her aunt.

She was sitting on one of the couches in her aunt's office, reading a book. Her light red hair was tied back and intricately braided, and she wore finer robes than her usual garb. She had not attended the session, nor had she planned to do so, but she was still in the halls of the Wizengamot - she had to dress the part of an heiress if she was to be taken seriously. And as Harry well knew, she would want to be taken seriously. So she played the game, despite her distaste for it.

When Harry saw her, he immediately began to calm. Her presence meant safety, it meant acceptance - and that was what he needed in that moment. He trusted her - and with that thought came a twinge of guilt. He remained shocked that she was interested in him, enough to get him to agree to date after the war.

 _The irony is real,_ he mused. _Betrayed by my parents, and it brings me closer to her than she realizes._ Despite himself, he smiled at the thought. _Here's hoping I don't screw it up._

She looked up as he entered the office. "Harry?"

"Hey, Susan," he replied.

"Auntie said that you were meeting with your parents and the Headmaster…" She trailed off as she took in his expression, her eyes locking onto the glistening blood on his cheek. "Merlin, what happened?"

She practically dragged him over to the couch, forcing him to sit down. She was next to him, dipping a handkerchief in her glass of water. As she wiped off the blood, he explained what had happened.

Susan looked him in the eye. "Are you alright?"

"No," Harry replied immediately. His features seemed to cloud over, as he put his feelings into words - or tried to. "I offered James a way for us to co-exist, basically told him to leave me alone and I'd leave him alone." His hand went up to his cheek, his fingertips tracing the cut. "And he gave me this for my trouble."

She took his hand, pulling it away from the cut - partially so she could get a better look at the injury, and partially because he seemed like he needed her to hold his hand, right then. "Oh, Harry," she said.

He closed his eyes at the contact, sighing deeply. "I called him an oathbreaker, Susan. I all but threatened to take his magic."

She said nothing, preferring to let him talk.

"They left me," he whispered. " _He_ left me," he repeated, anger growing in his tone. She squeezed his hand, and he gave her a squeeze of his own. "Why didn't I take his magic, Susan? I have every right to do it, every justification."

"I know," she replied. "And he has to know it, too."

"No, see, I don't think he does." Harry said. "I don't think he understands at all."

"Harry?" she asked, seeing the growing anger in his features.

"Seven words," Harry said, almost in a hiss. "All it would take is seven words."

As she watched, he raised his right hand. The red jeweled ring she saw there began to glow.

oOoOoOoOo

Lily, Jamie, and Dumbledore were all standing, watching in horror as James Potter lay on the floor, moaning. Healer Martin was kneeling beside him, waving her wand, muttering to herself.

"His magic," she began, eliciting a gasp from Lily. "It's being bound."

"No," whispered Dumbledore in horror.

"Can you…?" Jamie began to ask, trailing off as he saw the look of confusion on the healer's face.

"I can't do anything until the process completes," she said. The healer looked up at the boy, seeing the sorrow on his features. _Such a kind boy,_ she thought. _Just like the Headmaster described._

oOoOoOoOo

"Harry?" Susan asked, as the anger on Harry's face shifted into rage.

"He struck me, Susan, he struck the Lord of his House," Harry almost snarled. "He probably left a scar."

Susan squeezed his hand, looking into his eyes. "I know, Harry."

Harry seemed to pause, as if he had expected her to try to talk him down. "He deserves this," he said.

"Probably." Susan agreed.

Harry tilted his head, watching her. The words were on the tip of his tongue, simple as could be. _James Charlus Potter, I call for judgment._ Simple. Magic would do the rest. But as he looked down at the Hufflepuff sitting next to him, holding his hand, he found himself hesitating.

Part of him growled in frustration. _This is why we agreed to wait until the war was over,_ he thought to himself. _She didn't want me to hesitate out of worry for her._

Susan sensed his turmoil, and as she always had, cut through it like a knife through butter.

"What would James do, if the roles were reversed?" she asked, quietly.

Harry closed his eyes, ignoring the tear that fell. "He'd take my magic, and probably my life, without a second thought." The answer was as obvious as it was horrifying - but Harry had no illusions about how well liked he was in the eyes of his father.

He looked at the glowing ring on his hand. Then he looked into Susan's eyes. He saw her watching him, no trace of disappointment in her expression, no judgment. The support she seemed to be giving him, the comfort of her touch, was everything - it told him that she would have his back whatever he did. That she knew he could do this, take his father's magic, and that she would support him if he had to take that step.

She would understand if he didn't, too.

That was what did it, in the end. Susan would be there, whatever he did - she accepted him for _him_ , not as a tool or a scapegoat or a leftover. She was there for _him_ , not for Lord Potter or the discarded heir or the boy-who-lived. He could not shake the feeling that it was more than he deserved.

"I should take his magic," Harry said, weakly. Susan again squeezed his hand, keeping her eyes on his. She saw a tear roll down his bloodied cheek. "But I don't want to be like him," he whispered.

"Then don't, My Lord," she said, smiling as her heart broke for him. "Be who you are."

She saw the pain in his eyes, the turmoil. Then she felt his hand squeeze her own.

The Potter ring stopped glowing.

"Who am I?" he asked, as he brought his right hand down.

"Harry," she replied, sitting back on the couch. She reached out to him, and he allowed her to fold him into her arms. She said nothing as he began to weep softly.

oOoOoOoOo

When the convulsions stopped, James opened his eyes. He was still catching his breath, sweat dripping off of his forehead from the ordeal.

"Fucking hell," James moaned, before he drifted off into unconsciousness.

Healer Martin continued her diagnostics, her brow furrowing at the results. Lily, kneeling on the floor near James' head, saw the concern on the healer's face.

"What is it? Is he alright?" she asked.

Martin looked up. "Whatever was binding him stopped. He still has his magic," she replied. "Give him a day to rest, and he will be fine."

Lily and Jamie seemed to sigh together at the news, letting out breath they hadn't realized they were holding. Neither of them noticed the shared mannerism.

Dumbledore sat back in his chair. He, too, was relieved, but he also knew that this was not over. _Harry could take his father's magic at will,_ he thought. _This won't do._

"Is there any permanent damage, Healer Martin?" Dumbledore asked the healer. Martin's eyebrows rose at the inquiry, and her eyes met the Headmaster's.

"I don't believe so, sir," was her reply. Holding his gaze, her tone grew serious. "What should I do if there are side effects?"

"Then I would suggest, Miss Martin, that you look into alternative treatments." The Headmaster's smile returned when the healer nodded to him in acknowledgement.

oOoOoOoOo

What had been a cloudy midday in London gave way to sun by the time Neville arrived in the long-term spell damage ward at Saint Mungo's. His mother was still asleep in her bed, and the rays of sunlight were shining on her face. As Neville took in the sight of his parents, he saw his mother lazily raise an arm to try and block the light.

Alice had joined the DMLE shortly after graduation, just as her future husband Frank Longbottom had. Where Frank and his friend James Potter were skilled at apprehending criminals and fighting death eaters, Alice had bent her talents toward the investigative end of the DMLE's work. It was her efforts that broke up a potions smuggling ring that financed the death eaters, for instance, almost landing several Wizengamot members in Azkaban.

All she had done, according to her, was to follow the galleons - though Frank was quick to point out how brilliant she was, at every opportunity. Alice and Lily Evans had routinely found themselves at the top of the class lists during their time at Hogwarts, to the surprise of no one.

Smiling to himself, Neville walked across the room and closed the blinds. Returning to his parents' beds, he looked from one to the other. Alice had returned to a somewhat fitful sleep, now that the sun was out of her eyes. Frank, meanwhile, was snoring peacefully. Neville chuckled at the sight - the man could easily have been lounging in a recliner on his day off.

"Hello, Mom," he said to the woman on his left, closest to the door. Turning, he addressed the man on his right. "Hello, Dad." Pulling up a chair, he seated himself between the two beds. Reaching out, he held hands with his parents, taking comfort in their presence. The feel of a candy wrapper in his mother's hand made him smile, as it always did. Both of his parents seemed to be having one of their good days, which pleased him - even after close to fifteen years of convalescence, both Longbottoms seemed to be healthy and hale, apart from their inability to function mentally.

"Have I got a story for you," Neville began. "It started during our OWLs…"

As Neville told his parents about the battle, and about the events that followed, he found himself hoping that his grandmother had been right. Would his father have been proud of the man he had become?

 _Only time will tell,_ thought Neville, as he continued the story.

oOoOoOoOo

As he walked out of the Thickney Ward an hour later, Neville ran into a witch carrying a rack of potions. Startled, the blonde witch fell backwards onto the floor. The potions made quite a bit of noise as they rolled on the tile floor, but none of the bottles seemed to break.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" she said quickly, gathering the potions and placing them back in their carrier. Neville, who had kept his feet, reached down and picked up a bottle that had rolled towards him. The glass was clear, and showed a thick, red potion of some sort. Carefully, Neville handed the potion over.

"Nothing to be sorry about, I should have been paying attention." Neville offered his hand, and the witch allowed him to help her up. After she brushed herself off, she looked up at his face - and paused, looking thoughtful.

"Have we met before?" she asked.

Neville shrugged. "I'm not here all that often, but I do know some of the patients in the Thickney ward. You may have seen me on a previous visit?"

"Could be," she agreed. "Well, thank you again. Have a nice day!" With a bright smile, she turned and hurriedly walked into the Thickney ward.

Shaking his head at the odd incident, Neville turned and walked toward the public floo.

oOoOoOoOo

When he arrived at Longbottom Hall, he was surprised to find his grandmother speaking with an older, male healer. The man's robes showed him to be a healer from Saint Mungo's, and the hat he wore was that of a hospital administrator.

"Gran?" Neville asked, confused.

Augusta turned to her grandson. She seemed to be on edge, and Neville did not know why. The only time he saw her agitated in this way was when something happened with his parents, but that couldn't be the case now - he had just been there.

"Neville, this is Mister Breckenridge. He is in charge of the Thickney Ward at Saint Mungo's." She was putting her travelling cloak on as she spoke. "Did you speak with anyone at the hospital? About your parents?"

He shook his head, looking from his grandmother to their guest. "No, there was no one with them when I stopped by. I saw a healer as I left, but she could have been treating anyone."

"Ah, very good," said Breckenridge. "Then I get to bring you the news. How exciting!"

The man's enthusiasm bothered Neville, in a way he could not immediately identify. There was clearly no threat here, or none that Neville could identify, but there was still something…. off… about the man.

"What news, sir?" asked Neville, cautiously.

"Why, that would be telling, young sir!" was the answer. "Tell you what, let us go to the ward, and I will tell you both everything that I know."

"Come, Neville," Augusta said. She was clearly worried, as she had been when other 'cures' had presented themselves, only to later feel the disappointment of another dead end, another false chance. But even against her formidable judgment, Augusta Longbottom would grasp at any possibility of bringing her son and his wife home, finally, after all these years.

Neville answered in the only way he could. "Yes, Gran." As he pulled his traveling cloak back on, he noticed a red spot on the sleeve of his robe - _a drop of that healer's potion, probably_ , he thought. He gave it no mind, for the others had already stepped through the floo.

oOoOoOoOo

Neville had to rush to catch up with his grandmother, as she followed Breckenridge to the Janus Thickney Ward. When they reached the room assigned to his parents, Augusta and Breckenridge walked straight in. Neville, however, paused in the doorway.

On the right, he saw his mother, still sleeping soundly. From the doorway, he heard her softly snoring, and smiled in spite of his anxiety - even as alarm bells rang in his mind.

On the left, in the bed closest to the door, was his father, a candy wrapper clutched in his hand.

The blonde healer he had encountered in the hallway smiled at them as they entered. "Welcome! My name is Healer Martin." She bowed to Augusta, greeting her formally. She gestured at his parents.

"Tell me, Madam Longbottom," she said with a smile. "Do you believe in miracles?"

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ The response to this story has been remarkable - both in terms of favorites and follows (where this has more in four months than any other story I've posted here), and in terms of reviews. A good portion of the reviews seem to demand the blood of James Potter, and I get that - but that's not the story I want to tell, just yet. Have no illusions that James will escape this tale unscathed, of course, but we have a ways to go to get from here to there. **

**Of course, James does not act in a vacuum. How Dumbledore (and others) react matters as well. It's going to be a long summer. Let me put it this way - Sirius' line about the three most stubborn people he's ever known is probably one of the more important and telling lines in the fic so far, for those who want to know how things will play out. Stay tuned.**

 **Special thanks to DZ2, Grimjaw, and Leyrann for their support and advice as this story progresses.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	12. The Move

For a Thursday afternoon, the Leaky Cauldron was busier than Marcus Flint had seen it in quite some time. Today was not an ordinary Thursday, of course, given the emergency session of the Wizengamot that had just ended. Even now, the rumors and half-heard stories were filtering through the pub, and probably further still.

It was said that you could grumble about politics in the Leaky, and have Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks scoffing at your complaint before you closed your mouth. No spell could match the speed of a rumor in Wizarding Britain.

Of course, Marcus' father wanted nothing to do with rumors today. He and his associates had taken out a private room upstairs, where they were busily planning how to respond to the day's events. Marcus was tasked with keeping an eye on the comings and goings below, on the off chance that something happened.

The early summons had been a surprise, as had the hastily scrawled note. When Marcus learned what had happened, it made sense. House Flint had not been involved in a blood feud in centuries, but now they were in the thick of it. His father was taking the threat seriously, at least, and Lord Flint was never one to be overly cautious - which told Marcus exactly how worried his father actually was.

"Quite a session, wasn't it?" Marcus looked up to see Ambrose Rookwood taking a seat in his booth, a butterbeer already in his hand.

Flint shook his head. "You never get tired of doing that, do you?"

Ambrose gave his friend an innocent look. "Doing what, exactly?" The former housemates chuckled at the old joke, and shook hands.

"Good to see you, Rookwood," said Marcus. His face fell, as he remembered what had happened the week prior. "Sorry about your father."

"Thanks, Flint," Ambrose replied, sincerely. "I take it things didn't go well today?"

"Not sure," Marcus replied. "Harry Potter declared a blood feud on the Dark Lord - and his allies."

"Did he?" Ambrose's eyes narrowed as he considered the ramifications of such a declaration. Flint smiled at the expression - for it told anyone who knew Ambrose Rookwood that he had sank his teeth into a problem. Many a snake had teased Ambrose about belonging in Ravenclaw, but only until they got to know him.

Marcus knew that Ambrose Rookwood was as cunning as they came. Which was part of why they were meeting today, after all.

"That's why they went to the Ministry," Ambrose said, almost to himself. "How'd Potter know that they'd be there?"

"Above my level, Rookwood," replied Marcus. "Malfoy was supposed to retrieve something from the Department, and didn't come prepared for a fight."

Ambrose frowned at that. "Malfoy, I get, he's always been overconfident. The Lestranges too, according to Father. But it's not like dad to go unprepared."

"I don't know," Marcus said. He hadn't been aware of the operation until it was all over, and he was tasked with cleaning up afterwards. That task was part of why he was here, now, sitting at this table.

The faraway look remained on Ambrose's face, and Marcus smiled in spite of himself. Rather than interrupt his friend's train of thought, he pulled an envelope from his robes. Setting it on the table, he slid it over to Ambrose, who looked at it closely. The fine parchment was sealed with green wax, the snake motif as obvious as it was subtle.

When Ambrose made no move to pick up the letter, Marcus decided to give his pitch. "There is a place for you, Rookwood. There is work to be done. And I know you want to help us get back at Potter for killing your father."

 _There it is,_ thought Ambrose. He placed a hand on the envelope, but did not open it.

"You know our house will always stand with the Dark Lord, Flint," Ambrose said.

Marcus nodded. "I wouldn't be here if that weren't so." He leaned forward, bringing his voice as quiet as he dared. Even behind the secrecy charms on the booth, he felt the need to be cautious. "Will you take his Mark, Ambrose Rookwood?"

Ambrose looked up, and met Marcus' gaze. With a heavy sigh, he gave the only answer he could. "With all my heart, no."

That was not the answer Marcus had expected. "I'm sorry?"

It took a moment for Ambrose to decide how to explain - and explain he must, for it was rare indeed to find a wizard who would refuse the Dark Mark when it was offered. Most anyone who got to that point did so knowing where their path would lead. Ambrose, of course, never did anything without thinking it through, and so Marcus was content to wait for his friend's explanation.

After a few moments, Ambrose spoke. "My father took the Mark," he began. "When the first war ended, he was exposed and kicked out of the Ministry. Out of the Department our family has served for generations." He sighed, keeping his eyes on the envelope. "Dumbledore spoke up for some of us, he even rescued Professor Snape by saying he was a spy. So where was he when my father said the same thing? Where was his forgiveness then?" He shook his head. "No, there was never a question as to which side of this war I would be on. Even before Father died, I knew."

His eyes met Marcus', and the conflict in them was obvious. "It would be the greatest honor to take our Lord's Mark, but if I did that - so soon after my father was killed, and especially considering _how_ and _when_ he was killed - then I would immediately become suspect." He shook his head again, almost regretfully. "If I become a marked Death Eater, then I can't do what I need to do to support the Dark Lord. I won't be able to gather information, I won't be able to answer his questions or discover the secrets he wishes to know. I'll certainly never set foot in the Department of Mysteries, not with the Dark Mark, not after last week."

Marcus sipped his drink as he considered that answer. When he thought back to the quiet firstie he had met in the den of snakes years ago, it made sense. That didn't mean that the Dark Lord would approve, of course.

Ambrose saw the frown on Marcus' face, and continued. "The Dark Lord is wise and powerful - that's why Father took his Mark in the first place. If he truly needs me to join his ranks officially, then I will." He inclined his head, as if searching for the right phrase - difficult, when he had rehearsed this speech all week. "He would not be recruiting me if he did not want my counsel, and I have to give him what I think is my best advice. I am more useful to the cause if I remain unmarked."

"I see," said Marcus, quietly. "I suppose you've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

Ambrose rolled his eyes. "Have you met me, Flint?"

The tension broke at that, as Marcus grinned. "True, true." He left a few galleons on the table to pay for his lunch, and stood. Ambrose stood as well.

"Where are you off to now?" he asked. The look of surprise on Marcus' face was worth it.

"How did you know?"

Ambrose returned the grin. "You did say you were on the team cleaning up after the battle. That tells me you're on a rescue mission."

An exasperated sigh escaped Marcus, telling Ambrose that he was right again. "We have brothers in arms wasting away in a new prison in Hungary, according to our source. Our task is to break them out."

Ambrose was thankful that the silencing charm was still in place; he had not expected that much detail. But something Marcus said rang false, and he couldn't let his friend go unprepared.

"Marcus," he said. "There are two threats to the Dark Lord, as I see it. One is Potter and those who follow him. The other is a motivated ICW. Both are firmly within Dumbledore's influence." He leaned closer, covering the motion by shaking Marcus' hand. "Father had extensive contacts on the continent, Marcus. None of them - not one - knew about a wizarding prison anywhere in Hungary."

"What are you telling me?" asked Marcus, noticing the worry in his friend's voice.

"I'm not sure," Ambrose replied. "I guess, just be careful, Flint."

Marcus nodded to his young friend. "Will do, Rookwood."

oOoOoOoOo

Twenty minutes after the Granger family arrived at their new home in Eastbourne, Michelle Granger was forced to drag her daughter away to go get lunch. Had she delayed any further, Hermione would have begun emptying boxes and filling bookshelves - even as her father, uncle, and a team of movers were still unloading the large truck outside.

The Grangers decided to move on Friday to give themselves the entire weekend to get settled. Once the following Monday came around, the Doctors Granger would be setting up their new clinic. The town of Eastbourne was a growing community, with over a thousand new homes planned over the next few years - and a marked lack of dentists. Between the (very high) offer on their old house in Crawley, the retirement of one of the other dentists in their practice, and the opportunity to start fresh, the Grangers couldn't say no.

What they had not mentioned was that Tom Granger had grown up in the nearby city of Brighton, and felt like he was moving closer to home. Crawley was not that far away, if one took the highway, and Eastbourne was not that much closer, when you thought about it. But the feel of living in a coastal town again - that was what finally made the decision an easy one.

So it was that Michelle and Hermione Granger drove off to explore their new town a bit, before bringing back lunch for themselves, Tom Granger, and Michelle's brother Graham, who had come to help unload the truck.

When they returned to the house an hour and a half later, they found the last of the movers locking up an empty truck. They were gone before Hermione made it to the front door. Inside, she found her father and her Uncle Graham sitting in the dining room, each drinking a beer.

It did not escape Hermione's notice that the dining room table had already been assembled. Surely, she had not been gone that long?

Then she paused. The boxes with her books had been stacked in this room, hadn't they?

"Dad?" she began. "Where are my books?"

Her Uncle Graham chuckled to himself, and held out his hand. Tom Granger sighed, before handing over a five pound note. "The movers put them up in your room, sweetie."

"Already?" she said. Turning, she made her way up the steps and down a hallway to the room she had picked out. As she approached, she heard voices - the movers were in her room, it seemed. _I thought they had left?_

"How many books could one person need?" It was a man's voice, but the accent was familiar somehow.

"How many do you have?" came a light, female voice. Now, that one, Hermione definitely recognized. _But that's impossible…_ She stepped forward and opened the door.

Ron Weasley looked up as she entered, an old textbook in his hands. Harry and Neville were sitting on boxes, unpacking stacks of books and sorting them into piles. Luna and Ginny were sitting on her bed, attempting to assemble her new night table.

Hermione looked from friend to friend, not sure how to react. Finally, her eyes fell on Ron once more, and she spoke without thinking.

"What are you doing to my books?" she asked.

Harry stifled a laugh, just as Neville groaned and began fishing in his pockets for a galleon. Before anyone could answer her question, her eyes fell on the far wall of her bedroom - and the four oaken bookshelves that stood against the wall. Hermione looked at the shelves, and then turned and looked at the door, realizing that none of them would have fit into the room. When she looked at Harry, he was grinning.

"Explain," she said, pointing at the shelves.

"Hi, Hermione." Harry replied. He spread his hands and gestured at the room. "Surprise."

"Did you use magic to put those shelves up, Harry Potter?" she asked. The last thing they needed to do was give the ministry an excuse to get Harry in trouble. Even emancipated, even having taken up his Lordship, some busybody at the Ministry could still question whether he was technically still underage, and questioning that might lead to other questions - ones that James Potter would be all too eager to raise.

Harry clutched his hand to his heart, in mock injury. "I'm hurt, Miss Granger." Then the laugh escaped him. "Lord Black sends his regards - and his shrinking charms."

"Sirius, really? Wow," she said, reminding herself to thank him for the gift. "And you lot, what are you doing here?"

"They knew that if you had to unpack, you'd end up sitting and reading instead," answered Ginny. "And then we'd never see you again."

Hermione wanted to protest, but found herself conceding the point. Her friends really did know her too well.

"Right," she said, taking the book from Ron. "Let's get started, then."

oOoOoOoOo

Later that afternoon, Neville pulled Hermione aside and showed her the robes he had worn to Saint Mungo's. The potion stain on the sleeve, though dried, still held its bright red color.

"The color isn't much of a clue, though," Hermione said, looking closely at the stain. "Some potions change color depending on the purpose, or the recipient, or even the phase of the moon." She looked up. "What did the potion look like in the bottle?"

Neville sat back in his chair and thought for a moment. "If it's the one I picked up, it seemed thick and, I don't know, gloppy?" He almost winced at his own description, but couldn't think of a better word.

"A red, gloppy potion," muttered Hermione. "What happened with your parents, exactly?"

"They switched places," he said, his frustration at the situation clear in his tone. "Mom was on the left, and had a candy wrapper in her hand. When I came back an hour later, she was on the right, and dad was on the left with the wrapper in _his_ hand."

"Hmmm," said Hermione, taking another look at the stain. Neville was content to let her gather her thoughts, for he knew exactly how limited his knowledge of potions was. Potions ingredients, especially the ones that came from the greenhouses, those he could handle. Their interactions, their properties, and what exactly made a potion red and gloppy, all of that was beyond him.

Neville almost jumped when Hermione spoke again. "How did your parents look, Neville? I mean, before, when you visited with them?"

"How did they look?" Neville repeated, confused. "I don't know, they seemed fine."

"Compared to the last time you visited?" Hermione pressed.

"About the same, probably," Neville answered. "Why?"

Hermione ignored his question and continued with her own. "Are they able to walk around the hospital and exercise? Even with help?" Off his bewildered look, Hermione sighed. "Neville, if your parents have laid in hospital beds for fifteen years, they would look like it. Even laying down and moving your legs or your arms won't give you enough exercise to stay in proper shape." She looked at him intently. "So, did your parents look like they had been laying in a bed for fifteen years?"

Neville thought back to the previous day's visit, and to the feel of his parents' hands in his own. He did not have enough experience with life to know what a woman's hand should feel like when held, so the only thing he knew about his mother was that she seemed physically healthy. His father, though, had closed his hand around his son's when Neville grasped it.

His father's hand had felt strong, his grip sure. Even if it had been a reflex, and not some hint of his father in there somewhere, it was a relief at the time. Now, though…

"They seemed healthy." Neville said, quietly. "Dad's grip was strong. Too strong." He shook his head. "How did I miss something like that?"

"Don't feel bad, Neville," Hermione said, taking his hand. "It's not your fault."

"I know," he agreed. "But, still, someone should have noticed something, right?"

"Possibly," said Hermione.

After a moment, Neville sighed again. "So, what does this mean?"

Hermione looked at her friend carefully, seeing the determination on his features. As she watched him, he stood up and walked to the window. His fists were clenching, as if he was fighting the urge to hit someone.

She had seen that look in the Room of Requirement many times, and knew what it meant. The Heir Longbottom was _angry_.

"We start at the most basic question." Hermione said. She held up the robe. "Why was a nurse walking around with polyjuice potion?"

Neville shook his head. "That's not the most basic question, Hermione." He turned and looked at her. "Polyjuice requires a source for the hair. As an auror and a Gryffindor, there's no question that a polyjuice potion for my father would be red. So somewhere, somehow, they are getting hairs for their potion." He folded his arms across his chest, looking angrily at the discarded robes in her hand. "They can't fake it, not well enough to trick Gran. So, it's real somehow."

"No, Hermione," Neville continued. "The real question is this. Where the fuck are my parents?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **A shorter chapter, to keep things moving. Thanks again to Grimjaw for the beta work - as usual, the chapter is much improve through their input.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	13. The Confidence Course

**_A/N:_ Trigger warning for ritualized executions. **

* * *

Lily Potter stood on the street corner, taking in the quiet neighborhood that surrounded her. Hundreds of homes, stretching in all directions, each looking like a copy of the same post-war template. But for the numbers mounted next to the front door - the same numbers, the same font, the same metal on each home, she noticed - it would be impossible to tell which home was which. Even the street names were cold and impersonal.

What engineer, decades ago, thought it wise to name a street 'Privet Drive'?

James and Jamie were in Wales, setting up their new home. The atmosphere at Grimmauld Place had grown cold, especially after the Wizengamot meeting, and the Potters had decided it was time to establish a home of their own.

They did not consider returning to Falcon's Rest, at Lily's insistence. She would not dismantle the protections on that property, not ever, not after the past two weeks. If they did need to flee, she knew that they would be safe in their old home, even if it meant the appearance of 'death' once again. Better, she thought, to preserve what family she could.

She did not consider whether Harry's command of the Lord's ring could reach James under a Faraday charm. The question fascinated her from an academic standpoint, being exactly the sort of thing she would want to know about the secrecy charm she had helped create. On the other hand, testing the protection meant risking James' magic, and that was a step she was not prepared to take.

James, meanwhile, had not taken the possible loss of his magic very well at all. Knowing that he keeps his magic - and his life - under the continued mercy of the Lord Potter was galling indeed. Dumbledore's assurance that it would all work out was little comfort. None of the Headmaster's assurances had comforted her, recently, and she saw the same uncertainty in her son's eyes.

The financial control Harry had over them was problematic as well. After James raised his voice to Sirius about the indignity of their situation - forced to essentially beg their son for help - Sirius had not raged back at them as he would have in his youth. He did not laugh and respond with a prank. No, instead the Lord Black had gone to his study.

Thirty minutes later, he returned with a letter. James' hands had shaken as he read the parchment, and Lily understood why when she saw what Lord Potter had done. They were being given a hunting lodge in the north of Wales, an old Potter property James had never visited. A vault had been set up for their use, and Lily noticed that the amount was what would have been given to a widow. _Or,_ she realized, _to the Dowager Lady of the House._

Neither remarked on the trust vault established for Jamie, nor on the fact that their son's Hogwarts expenses would be covered.

It was the handwritten postscript that really set James off, though.

 _Mister Potter, my conditions from our meeting this past Thursday stand. Your continued place in the Household is contingent on your compliance with those conditions. Prove that you are no longer a risk to me and mine, and you have nothing to fear from me. Act against me, or against House Potter, and that will be that._

 _It would take me all of five seconds to strip you of your magic. Do not make the mistake of believing me incapable of taking that step._

 _See to your family. I will see to mine._

 _Harry Potter, The Lord Potter_

To add insult to injury, the hunting lodge Harry had given them was north of a Welsh town with the strangest name Lily had ever heard - Llanfair something or other - and lacked any public floo or apparition points. As a security measure, though James was convinced it was a personal slight, Harry had not given them a portkey. Instead, he gave them a series of numbers and called it a grid reference, forcing Lily to explain how the muggle system of latitude and longitude worked. Armed with a map and a pair of brooms, James and Jamie would need to find their new home the hard way.

When James stomped off after receiving the letter, Lily had asked Sirius when he wanted them to move out. Her old friend gestured toward the foyer, where Kreacher and two other elves were standing next to a stack of the Potters' trunks and other possessions.

Today was moving day, it seemed.

One of the elves was dressed in the oddest costume. As Lily approached, she saw that the elf was wearing combat fatigues and tiny black boots. _What a strange elf,_ she thought. The other elf was wearing a simple yellow dress, however, and seemed to look at her with disgust.

"Hello, I'm Lily," she said. "Thank you for gathering our things."

Kreacher looked as if he was about to respond with another nasty comment, as had been his usual mode of address toward the Potters, but a look from Sirius quieted him. The uniformed elf simply nodded curtly, his expression unreadable. It was the female elf who spoke.

"Dixie knows who you is, Missus Potter." The little elf's voice dripped with contempt.

Lily looked closely at the elf. "Have I met you before, Dixie?"

The scowl deepened. "Dixie is a Potter elf, Missus. Dixie knows what you did to good Master Harry."

Lily's face fell. "We didn't have a choice, Dixie," said Lily, quietly.

Dixie looked like she was about to step forward, but thought better of it. "Wes all be having choices, Missus." The uniformed elf placed a hand on Dixie's shoulder, and the two elves popped away silently. Kreacher grumbled about mudbloods, before shuffling off to attend his duties.

When she turned to look at Sirius, aghast at the venom in the little elf's tone, she saw Lord Black standing there.

"Sirius," she began, but he held up his hand.

"Twelve years, Lils," he replied. "And the hell of it is, Harry once told me he was jealous of me." Off her look, he sighed, turning to leave the foyer.

In the doorway he paused. "At least in Azkaban, they fed me every day." Then he was gone.

So it was that Lily Potter found herself standing on a street corner in Little Whinging, Surrey, steeling herself for a reunion she had not expected to need to have. Her hair was glamoured to be a short, sandy blonde, and her features were a blend of her own and her friend Alice Longbottom - a woman her dear sister would never have met.

She had deliberately given herself a few blocks to walk, hoping that the time would give her a chance to calm. A small stone had been transfigured into a clipboard, and some parchment turned into official looking forms. Did the muggle government do home visits for foster families? She didn't know. At the moment, though, she didn't really care. The ruse only had to be good enough to get her inside the house.

Even hearing the story from Harry, she had a hard time believing that it was the truth. Then again, it had been a very long time since she and Petunia had spoken. The crux of the matter was that her son hated her, and her sister was a large part of why.

It was time to find out what they had done to her boy.

oOoOoOoOo

As Lily Potter was walking past Number 17 on Stanley Drive, the homeowner was getting his first lesson in runes at Potter Manor.

Colonel Ramsay had travelled via portkey with Harry, and the experience was one that he didn't think he'd ever get used to. He kept his calm, relying on decades of training in discomfort, but that didn't make him eager to repeat the experience.

Then, when he set eyes on Potter Manor, he found himself angry on Harry's behalf. He knew exactly how well treated Harry had been at the Dursleys, and how little of their more-than-adequate income was used to feed and clothe him. He was well aware how much Harry had relied on his home as a sanctuary, and later as his own miniature academy, over the years. It did not bother him to help the boy - Ramsay had always been a bachelor, devoting himself to Queen and Country, and had the time and patience to accommodate the mistreated young man he found cutting his grass one day.

Ever since the previous summer, he had known that Harry had access to a manor house and other properties. That development was one of the main reasons he had urged Harry to meet with the goblins and (if possible) take up his Lordship. But knowing that there was a family estate, and then _seeing_ it, were two very different things.

No child with access to a home like this should have spent a decade in a cupboard.

Harry led him through the manor, past a well-appointed kitchen, and into a back room. When Ramsay saw the space they would be using, he grinned. "This will work perfectly," he said.

The room was clearly the wizarding equivalent of a man-cave. A rack of brooms lined one wall, and nearby sat a table with what looked like tools for maintaining those brooms. Posters for sports teams decorated the walls, and though Ramsay recognized none of them, their tone was unmistakable. Some things were universal, as a poster for the 1970 English National Team demonstrated. That the team was flying through the air, or indeed that the picture was moving at all, just proved the point.

Most of the room had been cleared and cleaned. In place of the boxes and chairs they had found littering the room, Harry had set up a semi-circle of eight chairs with desks attached. Anyone who had walked the halls of an academy like Sandhurst would recognize the type. Each desk had a small notebook and a pen, and Harry had been clear that he wanted his team to be taking notes, to get into that habit.

It was an exercise they were not to be told about. Harry would have them write down questions and observations, getting them in the mindset of watching everything. They had worked on situational awareness in the Room of Requirement, but having the Colonel here gave them a chance to take it to another level.

Ramsay had asked him if he just wanted to show off his team. Harry did not deny that, either.

In the center of the room stood what looked like a large sandbox set up on a table. Ramsay had seen these before, any commander had. The sand could be shaped to mimic any terrain, allowing an instructor to let their students work out for themselves how best to accomplish (or defend) their objective. Here, they would be simulating the layout of the Ministry for their first lesson as a group - an after-action review of the Battle of the Ministry.

A young blonde girl was sitting at one of the narrow ends of the sand table, manipulating some sort of controls. She looked up when they entered, smiling brightly.

"Hello Harry, hello sir," she said. "I think it's ready for you."

"Brilliant," said Harry. "Luna Lovegood, allow me to introduce Colonel Mark Ramsay, of Her Majesty's Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst. Colonel, may I present Miss Luna Lovegood, Associate Editor of the Quibbler and Ravenclaw extraordinaire."

"Good morning, Miss Lovegood," Ramsay said, earning a giggle from Luna.

"Welcome to the Wizarding World, Colonel," she replied.

Setting his bag down, Ramsay walked over to the sand table. The sand had already been arranged to show a small hill, on which was situated some sort of archway. At the base of the hill, a large flat area extended toward the walls. What looked like small chess pieces were arranged in various places around the hill, though the pieces came in four colors rather than two.

"You were able to get video, then?" asked Ramsay, as he examined the layout. He looked up when Luna chuckled again. Harry was stifling a chuckle of his own.

"Not, exactly, no." Harry said. "We may have used a magical device to directly review our memories of the battle."

"Oh," said Ramsay. He indicated the figures on the table. "And we use these to represent the units on the field?"

Luna nodded. "We're the white team, of course. The Death Eaters are in black, the Order is in yellow, and, well…" She trailed off at that point, looking at Harry with an uncomfortable expression.

"My parents are in bronze." Harry finished. Ramsay could hear the quotation marks around 'parents', and knew exactly where Harry's feelings were about them. But they had been present, and could not be ignored.

"Right, ok then." Ramsay reached into the sand table to pick up a figurine, only to have Luna stop him.

"Just a moment, sir," she said, politely. She reached down and tapped a few glowing stones mounted into the side of the table. As she did so, the figurines began moving on their own. Ramsay noticed that they were not just small statues representing wizards and witches - they actually began exchanging spell fire and dodging curses.

"Wizard's chess uses pieces like these," began Luna. "Each one has a script, like the knight that can only jump to certain squares, and so on. We used that to give each figure a script based on the battle."

Ramsay watched, fascinated, as the battle played out before him. "And if you want to go back?"

Luna grinned. "Then we go back." She tapped another control, and the pieces backed away to the edges of the table. The hill and surrounding floor melted into the sand, making way for a larger series of pathways between large shelves.

"Amazing," Ramsay said, half to himself.

"Magic," replied Luna.

"Walked into that one, didn't I?" Ramsay said, amused. He leaned in closer to the table, trying to get a better look at the scene. "How did you get this level of detail?"

"I went through my memories a few times," answered Luna, "Then I made adjustments to the runes worked into the table. We based them on a chessboard, just like the pieces."

"Luna misses nothing, I've learned," said Harry. "I added some touches from what I saw, but almost every significant detail came from her."

"I see." Ramsay said, glancing over at the pair. Luna must have seen the question on his mind, even if he wasn't sure whether to ask it. She shrugged, apologetically.

"Muggles can't use a pensieve, you see," she said. "And it wouldn't be much of a briefing if you couldn't see what we were talking about."

Ramsay looked at the sand table, and then back at the blonde girl who kept surprising him. "Miss Lovegood, are you telling me that you built this, designing much of it from scratch, just for my benefit?"

"No, of course not," scoffed Luna. "That would be silly." She grinned at him again. "You're coming here for our benefit, so the least we can do is help you help us help everybody."

"I see," Ramsay lied. "Well, thank you anyway, Miss Lovegood, for making me feel welcome."

"No, Colonel," she said, her voice growing more serious. "Thank you, sir."

oOoOoOoOo

Ambrose Rookwood had delayed this as long as he could. He had sent out letters, making contact with anyone he could, seeking information. He had made arrangements for a small burial service, inviting old friends of his father - those who were unmarked, at any rate.

The marked friends would remember him in their own way. Father would never let him forget it if he wasted an opportunity, even if the opportunity was his funeral.

Unfortunately for Ambrose, he had run out of excuses. He was the head of House Rookwood, and even if House Rookwood was not involved in the Wizengamot or in the goings on of the old houses, it still had duties to fulfill.

 _Ventum ab scientia_ was his house's motto. _From the wind, Knowledge._ The Rookwoods listened, they learned, and they remembered. Ambrose had to do the same, now. And he had to get started quickly, if he planned to remain unmarked. Declining the invitation of the Dark Lord had been a risk, but a calculated one. His father had served the Dark Lord well, in both wars - hopefully, that service would buy him some leeway now that his father had given everything to the cause. Only time would tell.

For now, it was his father's journal that troubled him. Once he read those entries, and learned what his father had known, it would be real. Ambrose knew he had to take this step, and knew why - but for just a moment, he didn't want to be the Head of House. He just wanted to talk to his father again, seek his advice.

"I'm sorry, Da," he said, quietly. Placing his hand on the journal, he opened it to one of the first few pages.

 ** _July 12, 1972_**

 _David Flint brought me an invitation today. A man known as Lord Voldemort seeks my aid in overthrowing the corrupt ministry and installing a government that will protect Wizarding Britain from all threats._

 _If I agree, I will take the Dark Mark and join his Death Eaters, thus taking my first step toward a place in the new order. I've signaled my tentative agreement, subject to Father's approval, of course. I doubt he will want to take the mark, nor is he likely to be offered the chance. Flint said that they are actively avoiding the Unspeakables, for now at least, until they are more established._

 _With enough sympathetic wizards in the Ministry, it will not matter whether one bears the mark or not - which is why I feel comfortable taking it now. If the choice were between working in the Department and taking the mark… well, let's just say I'm glad I don't have to make that choice._

 ** _July 21, 1972_**

 _I knelt before our Lord today, swearing my allegiance and taking his mark in return._

 _The mark is given as part of a blood ritual, and as with most blood rituals a sacrifice is required. Most of the Death Eaters do not choose to learn much about the ones they execute - for an execution it is._

 _I am a Rookwood, however. I cannot not know._

 _Lee Gregory, 41, an accountant from Edinburgh, stared at me with anger as I approached him with the knife. He sputtered curses at me as I performed the incantation, swearing that I would pay for this. As the knife bit into his chest, his anger turned to sobs as he begged for the life of his son. The blood was hot on my hands as I traced the mark's location on my arm. As the Dark Lord spoke his part of the incantation, and my arm began to burn, I heard the muggle whimper the name of his wife, Sandra. He died as the Mark was sealed with a hissed phrase from our Lord._

 _What Lee Gregory did not know is that his wife Sandra had been executed twenty minutes before, when a man named Yaxley took the mark. When I was done, I saw them drag the corpse away, only to return with a weeping teenager, pissing himself and begging for his parents._

 _I did not remain to witness his end._

 _I will not say, even here, that it was a pleasant experience. But was it necessary? Yes. I cannot and will not support a Ministry that favors outsiders over its own people. And make no mistake, supporting the rights of muggles who happen to have magic over those of us who have had it for generations? That way lies madness._

 _They will call us traitors. So be it. We will save them from themselves. And if it costs the blood of Lee and Sandra Gregory, and their son, then it is what it is._

 _Morsmordre._

Ambrose closed the journal and set it back on the desk. This was the choice he had made last week, one that still weighed on his mind.

"Fucking hell," he said to himself. _What have I gotten myself into?_

oOoOoOoOo

The team had taken to the makeshift classroom far more easily than Colonel Ramsay had expected. They were asking questions and making observations that wouldn't be out of place from his usual students, and those were professional soldiers and officer candidates.

Colonel Ramsay was impressed.

After the morning session, when the rest of the team went to the kitchen for lunch, Harry and Luna stayed behind with Colonel Ramsay.

"We'd like to get your advice on another scenario, sir," began Harry.

"Of course," said Ramsay. "I told you, I'm here to help you and your team in any way I can."

Harry nodded, and then paused. "I know your superiors know what you've been doing with me, working with me over the summers I mean, but..." His voice trailed off.

Luna picked up the thread of the question. "Harry worries that your involvement is the first step to bringing the muggles into the war," she said. Ramsay noticed that the humor she had displayed throughout the morning was gone, now.

"I've been instructed to tell you that Her Majesty's government is monitoring the situation closely." Ramsay gave the only answer he could.

"There's a _but_ in there, I think," Harry said, attempting to lighten the mood.

"There is, yes. But, if the muggle government has to intervene, it will be because the Ministry violated the Glasgow Accord, the treaty that separated Wizarding Britain from Muggle Britain." He frowned. "If that happens, all bets are off. There isn't a way to be a little involved, beyond what I'm doing here."

"Hopefully, that won't be necessary."

"Said the child soldier," added Luna. Harry winced at the description, and could tell that Ramsay didn't like it either.

"I didn't start this war," said Harry, after a few moments.

"No," agreed Colonel Ramsay. "But I get the feeling that you'll be the one to end it." He gestured at the sand table. "And you won't be doing it alone."

"No," Harry said. "Thank you, again, sir." Off Ramsay's nodded acknowledgement, Harry turned to Luna. "Go ahead and show him."

Luna tapped a few controls, and the sand table changed. When the sand had stopped shifting, Ramsay was looking at what had to be a muggle house. He raised an eyebrow, looking at Harry.

"This is what we were thinking…" began Harry, as he laid out the preliminary information about his proposal. By the time the discussion was over, Harry and Luna had a plan to prepare, and Ramsay had a few calls to make.

 _So much for advice and instruction_ , Ramsay thought. _Now I'm an arms dealer._ Then he looked at Harry, speaking quietly with the younger blonde, and decided that he was alright with that.

oOoOoOoOo

Lily's reunion with her sister began when she was greeted at the door to Number 4, Privet Drive, by a large man with a simple-looking face.

"Ah," she said, making a show of looking at her clipboard. "You must be Vernon Dursley, then?"

The man just stared at her, before leaning back into the house. "Mum!" Then he stepped forward and walked down the street, completely ignoring her and leaving the door standing open.

"Dudders?" came a familiar voice from inside the house. Before Lily could react to the sudden departure of the boy she now knew was Dudley, her sister appeared.

Petunia had not changed a bit. She was still as skinny as could be, and probably wore the same clothes she had a decade prior. Her face was perpetually scowling, to the point that Lily wondered if a grin would kill the woman. She wore an apron, and Lily noticed several stains on it - suspecting, from Harry's account, that her dear sister had been quite unprepared to keep up with the cooking once summer began.

"Yes?" asked Petunia, impatiently.

"Ah, yes, I'm following up on some of our records for a child you fostered a few years ago. Could I have a few moments of your time, madam?" Lily glanced at her clipboard, to keep up the pretense.

Petunia's face darkened. "We've never fostered a child before."

"Oh? I have a record for one, let me see, ah - Harry James Potter? Was he a resident at this address?"

The scowl deepened. "He may have been, but he isn't now."

"Oh, I see. Well, do you have his new address? I'd like to meet with him about his time in the system." Lily didn't know if Harry had actually been in the system, or if he had just been left here. She had expected that he had been raised by one of their friends, or at least an Order member, but that illusion had been brutally shattered that day at Grimmauld Place.

"I don't know where he is, and I don't care. That boy was nothing but trouble." The venom in Petunia's voice seemed to match that of the elf from earlier, which startled Lily. Clicking her pen, she made as if to take notes.

"Was the boy a troublemaker, then?" Lily wanted to see what Petunia said, not expecting the shock she got.

"He was a freak and a criminal, honestly, and if he doesn't end up dead within a year I'll be amazed," spat Petunia. "The country would be better for it, if you want my opinion."

"I see," said Lily, fighting to control her reaction. "I have listed here that he attended a boarding school in… Scotland, I believe?"

"So he said," Petunia replied. "If you want to call Saint Brutus' Home for Criminal Boys fancy, then I guess that's your choice."

"Right," Lily replied, pretending to make a note. "His parents, what happened to them?"

"Died," Petunia said. "And to hell with them, getting blown up and leaving us to clean up their mess."

Lily sighed. "Right, one last question, then, and I'll be out of your way." She looked into her sister's eyes, and barely avoided recoiling at the hatred she saw there. _It was truly a wonder Harry had not died_ , she thought. "If you and your husband had died, would Mister Potter's parents have cared for your son?"

Petunia scoffed. "Such people shouldn't be allowed to have children," she said.

 _Funny, here I am thinking the same about you,_ Lily thought. "Nevertheless," she said.

Petunia sighed. "If that were to happen, I would hope that my Dudders died with us, so that my dear sister couldn't taint him with her freakishness."

Lily allowed her voice to revert to its normal tone, keeping the rest of the glamour in place. "Thanks, 'Tuney." She clicked her pen and put it away, watching Petunia's reaction.

She was not disappointed. Petunia grew pale at Lily's words, and especially at the childhood nickname this stranger just used. Only one woman would ever call Petunia by that name.

"No," she said quietly, taking a step back. "You're dead."

Lily allowed the glamour to fall entirely, revealing her shoulder length red hair and green eyes. The notice-me-nots she had placed before walking up were still there, allowing her to make the transition while still on the street. Under wards, she may have had an issue, but Petunia's house was fully muggle - no wards to worry about here, or none that Lily could detect.

"Not at all," said Lily, coldly. "Just thought I'd stop by and say hello to my favorite sister."

Petunia stood there, stunned. Then her face turned to a cold rage. Before Lily could react, Petunia had slapped her in the face.

"Your lot, how DARE you? You ruined my family!"

"I did what?" asked Lily, her temper flaring as well.

"Everything that has happened to us is a result of your FREAK son! He nearly cost us everything, and here you stand. Why did you do it?" Petunia's sneer had returned, and she stepped forward to stab her finger into Lily's chest. "Couldn't handle a toddler so you faked your death to unload him? That's pretty cold, even for you, sister mine."

Lily didn't have words. The hatred she felt from her sister stunned her. "I didn't…"

"Oh, yes you did. The instant you walked into that world, you knew, and still you managed to get in over your head." Petunia shook her head. "I hope it was worth it."

Lily was shocked. Everything she had done, and Petunia was angry with _her?_ "Tuney, I…"

"No. Stop right there," Petunia said. "Don't you say a word, Lily. You get exactly what you give, and deserve every day of it." She stepped back, placing her hand on the doorway. "Now, get off my property."

Lily didn't know what to say. "'Tuney," she said weakly, repeating her sister's nickname.

"No. Go away." Petunia pointed at the sidewalk, as if willing her sister to disappear. "Never come back."

With that, she slammed the door in Lily's face. As Lily stood there, dumbfounded, she learned why there was so much gossip on Privet Drive - the doors are thinner than any others.

"Bitch should have stayed dead," Petunia's words, angrily spat at no one in particular, stung Lily as nothing else said that day could. A disappointed elf, an old friend cutting ties, and now her sister. What bridges hadn't they burned today?

 _What have we done?_ Lily would spend a long night that night trying to answer that question.

The tears were starting to come just as she apparated away to Grimmauld Place, there to await word from her husband. Besides, she still had her worldly possessions to collect.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **We don't need multiple chapters of Harry and the team getting put through their paces by Colonel Ramsay, but I thought it important to show how he is involved - and how he is not. It's a fine line, here - his superiors, and Number 10, are aware of the wizarding world, and that he is connected to it via Harry. They know of the war, and that Harry is involved. They are constrained in how they can be involved by a treaty I made up, and so can't intervene directly unless everything goes to shit.**

 **The thinking is this - if the muggles can drop a few bunker-busters and end the war, then it's not much of a story. Similarly, if their goal is to not have wizards attacking muggles indiscriminately, then not antagonizing the wizards would seem wise. Sending special forces units into Diagon Alley might be effective, but it's an escalation - and it invites escalation in turn.**

 **Several excellent stories have explored the idea of Muggles applying their military might to the task of fixing (or tearing down) the Wizarding World. This isn't that sort of story - but involving an active duty soldier has to be dealt with somehow. Thus, the Glasgow Accord, which handwaves the whole issue.**

 **Some reviewers wonder where Ambrose Rookwood is going. I'm hopeful that his role in the story brings a fresh take on... well, we'll see. Stay tuned.** **As for the Longbottoms, I really wish I could tell you if any reviews guessed the situation correctly - and congratulate those who did. If any. Again, Stay Tuned.**

 **Petunia is a bit nastier than canon, but then again we knew that from Harry's description earlier in the story. Lily probably should have picked a different day to visit, one where she was up for the emotional shock it turned out to be. Then again, Petunia is gonna be Petunia. That Lily did not anticipate such a reaction is telling of how off her game Lily is, given what she's been through these past few weeks. For her, and others, it should be a very interesting summer.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	14. The Barbeque

The first thing Harry Potter had done to impress his account manager at Gringott's was nothing.

Twinblade was not just the Potter accounts manager. He also handled a number of smaller houses, families that might not have much business to offer the bank. As with the other senior managers, he also assisted customers who had no assigned manager.

He had seen young witches and wizards inherit large sums before. He had also seen them return to the bank before long, seeking loans and assistance. It was easy to spend through a windfall, harder to exercise restraint. The muggles had seen this as well, or so he was told, with sweepstakes and lottery winners. Many such ended up impoverished when the galleons ran out.

Harry Potter was not going to fall into that trap.

When he ascended to the Potter Lordship, and gained access to his family's property and funds, he asked for ledgers and account statements. He reviewed them carefully, asking insightful questions as he went. When Twinblade reminded him that time was money, Harry nodded and asked if he had more time available for the usual fee.

Twinblade had grinned at that. Harry and Colonel Ramsay had been in his office for all of half an hour at that point. He had no reason to know what the 'usual' fee was. It was a sign of trust in his account manager, and one that the old goblin appreciated. Now, he wasn't going to raise the banners and declare Harry Potter a Friend of the Goblin Nation over a moment of common courtesy - but he was going to remember the gesture, and make sure that his colleagues knew of it as well.

Gringott's liked to know who they were working with when they gained a new client, especially a prominent one. Few clients were as prominent as Harry Potter.

When Harry had a good understanding of his finances and holdings, he took out a sheet of parchment and made a list. Twinblade expected it to be a series of extravagant purchases, as any teenager might make with unlimited funds. A new broom for Quidditch, perhaps, or a new wardrobe. An older client might start buying up businesses or artifacts or the like. If Harry wanted, he could probably buy a modestly-priced Quidditch team.

No, Harry only had an interest in one business - the Daily Prophet. He also wanted to increase the limit on his trust vault to free up resources, but the amount he asked for was not unreasonable. He also set aside some money for a shopping trip, but this was in pounds - and again, the amount was nothing extravagant.

It was an impressive list, in that Harry Potter seemed to be handling his newfound wealth with wisdom, which would surprise the other managers. When he got to the bottom of the list, Twinblade let out a bark of laughter. Harry had indeed added one luxury item, at the insistence of the muggle soldier who came with him to the bank. The older man had argued that Harry deserved at least one gift to himself, and Harry had agreed.

When Harry explained what he was looking for, he finished by inviting Twinblade over to enjoy the result, once the work was complete. That, too, was a surprise to the old Goblin - but, again, it was a welcome one.

The new Lord Potter would be one to watch, Twinblade was certain.

oOoOoOoOo

Susan Bones was not surprised by Harry's invitation to Potter Manor, though her aunt was. With the beginnings of open warfare, many families were keeping to themselves as much as possible, in hopes that they don't become targets for death eaters.

When Amelia commented on it, Susan relayed something that Harry had told her when they first met in Hogsmeade. "Harry said that if we stop living our lives, the death eaters win."

That Harry asked them to "Dress casually" was unusual as well. Amelia thought that, whatever Harry had planned, it would be a welcome change from the usual social events inflicted on her by wizarding society.

Her niece had chuckled at that. "With Harry, nothing is ever ordinary." Amelia could do little else but agree.

When they exited the floo at Potter Manor, an elf directed them to the back patio, where the other guests were relaxing and watching as the meal was cooked. The way the elf phrased that statement drew questioning looks from both witches, for guests rarely watched the cooking.

Susan could see a few people through the window as they approached. Molly and Arthur Weasley were there, speaking with Xenophilius Lovegood and an older man she did not recognize. Arthur was trying very hard to not be noticed as he looked off to the side, watching something intently. Out in the yard, Susan could see Ron and Ginny playing some sort of game with Luna and Hermione, as well as an older redhead who must be one of Ron and Ginny's brothers. She saw Luna fling her arm forward, and a white disc of some sort flew away from her. Ron jumped up and caught it in the air, before throwing it back toward Hermione.

As they stepped out onto the back patio, Susan understood. Harry had mentioned his gift to himself, but she had not yet had a chance to see it. Nor had Neville, apparently, for he was standing next to Harry asking questions.

"It's a grill, Neville." Harry said, no trace of annoyance in his voice. "It's too nice a day to be cooking indoors, and I haven't had a chance to try it out properly yet."

The grill was almost five feet in width, and had been built into a stone wall along one edge of the patio. Susan had never seen a muggle-style grill, and had only Harry's vague description to go on at all. Even then, it was clear that Harry had spared no expense in setting up his dream grill at the family manor.

"Muggles cook indoors, though… right?" asked a confused Neville. Harry chuckled as he turned one of the steaks over, causing flames to leap out of the grill with a sizzling noise.

"That they do, Neville, that they do." He flipped another steak as he spoke. "But if I wanted to cook for you all, then I'd have to be inside, instead of out here enjoying this beautiful day." As he said this last, he gestured at the group sitting on the patio, and his eyes fell on Susan. She smiled at him as his face lit up. "Speaking of which. Welcome Susan, Madam Bones."

"Mister Potter," said Amelia, though she was smiling at his reaction - and at Susan's. "Thank you for your invitation."

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. "It was my pleasure. Everyone has been working hard this week, and I wanted to give everyone a relaxing afternoon before we get back to work."

Amelia raised an eyebrow at that. Harry's meaning was clear, for she knew exactly what sort of work he was preparing to get back to. "You'll have to show me later on," she said. "I have to admit to some curiosity."

Another nod. "Of course," Harry replied. "I'd be happy to."

As Amelia walked over to sit with the other adults, Susan walked up to Harry. He was wearing shorts and a grey t-shirt, over which he had put on a red apron. With both of his hands busy attending to the meat, Susan hugged Neville first. Then, she found an arm wrapping itself around her shoulders as Harry pulled her into a one-armed hug of his own.

"Hello, Susan," Harry said. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it," she answered. "So, this is it, eh?"

Harry grinned, earning an eyeroll from Neville. "Yep, this is it. What do you think?"

"I think it looks like a lot of work," said Susan. Cooking had never been anything she had an interest in pursuing, but she could tell that Harry was enjoying himself. "I did promise I'd try it, though, and had a feeling today would be the day."

"All week, he's been going on and on about today," said Neville. The grin on his face belied his false annoyance with his friend. "It got to the point where the Colonel threatened to cancel the barbeque if we didn't get our work done to his standard."

"Oh?" Susan looked up at Harry, wondering if he would explain.

Instead, he took a sip of his butterbeer and shrugged. "A little motivation can work wonders."

Before he could set the bottle down, Susan took it out of his hand and stole a sip for herself. "You're not wrong, Mister Potter." Neville snorted in amusement as Susan nonchalantly handed the bottle back to a surprised Harry, before walking off to get one for herself.

When she walked into the kitchen, the older man she had seen earlier was already standing in front of the cooling cabinet. He smiled at her, before handing her a butterbeer.

"Miss Bones, good afternoon. I've heard a lot about you from Harry." He held out a hand. "My name is Mark Ramsay."

"Oh, hello!" Susan said, shaking his hand. She was unable to keep all of the surprise out of her voice, for the Colonel chuckled at her response.

"Grilling out on an off day is an old Army tradition, Miss Bones," Colonel Ramsay said, still smiling. "When Harry told me what he wanted to do, I told him that I had to make sure he did the thing properly." As he spoke, he pulled a metal tool out of his pocket. Susan watched as he took his own bottle - not butterbeer, but something called lager - and used the tool to remove a small metal lid. The discarded cap fell to the kitchen counter with a clatter, next to a small pile of butterbeer corks.

Not sure what else to say, Susan nodded toward the patio. "He seems to be having fun with his new toy," she remarked.

"That he is," agreed Ramsay. "Sometimes I forget that he's still just a teenager. Then I see him sitting in the kitchen, reading cookbooks and talking to his elves about what to cook."

Susan shook her head, still smiling at the idea. "We're planning a birthday party at my home in a couple of weeks," she said. "I hope he doesn't plan to cook for that as well."

"Oh, not much chance of that," said Ramsay. "He'll probably spend too much time being overwhelmed."

"Really?" Susan looked over to the Colonel, who seemed to have a contemplative look on his features. Ramsay saw her glance over, and shrugged.

"Harry's never had a birthday party, you see." Ramsay said, his voice becoming quieter. "Other than a nice dinner at my house, his relatives never celebrated it. So this will be the first time he gets to just enjoy the day." He looked back at the patio, where Harry and Neville were speaking animatedly with Ron at the grill.

"Oh," said a quiet Susan.

"Yes, oh." replied the Colonel. "I doubt you could get Harry any gift better than throwing a party for him. So," Ramsay raised his beer in Susan's direction, causing her to raise her butterbeer in return. "Thank you, Susan, for helping take care of our boy."

oOoOoOoOo

Had he been so inclined, Harry could easily have fed twice as many people as he had at his home that afternoon. He had prepared a few steaks to go with burgers, bratwurst, and even some grilled chicken breasts. There were also salads, steamed vegetables, and a tray of fruit. Luna insisted on helping him cook potatoes, and in return Harry very carefully did not notice her keeping the unused foil for herself.

When Hermione asked her about it, Luna had just laughed. "I think it might make a nice hat, don't you?" Hermione just stared at her for a moment, wondering where she had heard the muggle phrase about tin-foil hats - before the snickering from the boys told her that Luna was just messing with her.

Molly Weasley had gotten up to help with the food, but sat back down at Harry's insistence.

He was polite, but firm. "You've cooked how many meals for me over the years? Let me at least do this one for you in return."

She reluctantly agreed, but still felt the need to comment. "You must have put a lot of time into making all of this food, Harry. It looks amazing."

That had gotten a grin from Harry. ""I can't take all of the credit, Mrs. Weasley. When I told Dobby that I planned to cook for you all, he immediately told me that I was not allowed to do an elf's job." Harry chuckled as he ignored the sudden look he got from Hermione. "I almost had to ask the Colonel here to conduct negotiations."

Ramsay took a sip of his beer and nodded. "They agreed to let Harry work the grill, if he let them do the rest." He grinned as he thought back to that discussion, and to the work the elves had done over the course of the past week of training. "Harry told me that the elves worked for him, but I had a hard time telling who was in charge at first - Harry or the elves." Most of the group laughed at the comment.

Amelia spent most of the meal listening to the conversation around her. It was very carefully kept to light topics, avoiding all mention of the war, the Ministry, and - perhaps most noticeably - the Potters. This entire event was intended to allow all present to just relax for a while, and it showed.

Susan's easy banter with Harry was hard to miss. Amelia could not keep her eyebrow from raising when she saw her niece stab a piece of Harry's steak with her fork, deftly stealing it from his plate. Her smile grew when she saw him reach over and take a bite of her grilled chicken sandwich.

"Hard to believe there's a war on, isn't it?" asked Colonel Ramsay.

Amelia turned to look at the muggle soldier sitting on her left. "They look like teenagers," she replied, softly.

"They are," he said. "But they've had to grow up fast." He nodded toward Harry. "I'm told that he has briefed you on his history?"

A nod. "Susan introduced us during winter, and he spent quite a bit of time telling me his story."

"Then you know why he's doing all this. Not just taking control of the manor and his House and his team, but his life."

Amelia nodded again. "I got the impression that very few people had given him reason to trust them."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Director," said Ramsay. He gestured with his beer, indicating the thirteen people sitting on the patio, laughing and chatting and eating. "If that were the case, this party would be much smaller."

oOoOoOoOo

As the party continued at Potter Manor, Sirius Black walked up to a nondescript house in a small muggle town.

He regretted missing the event. It was the sort of afternoon he sorely needed - a chance to sit back and relax and enjoy good food and friendly company, without worrying about the war or anything else. In reality, however, he knew that he wouldn't be much of a guest, after the week he had had.

It was a virtual certainty that someone would say something, or ask something, and Sirius knew that he would start talking about the Potters. Then he would start talking about how one of his best friends in the world left him in prison for more than a decade. And then he'd probably say something he'd _really_ regret.

No, it was better for everyone if he took some time to himself. So Sirius Black threw himself into his work, both as Lord Black and as the Regent Potter.

As Lord Black, he had little to do apart from keeping his ears open. With his seat in the Wizengamot only recently taken, he was not beholden to any of the usual alliances the Blacks may have joined in the past. Nor was he on any committees or other bodies that might take his time - for despite the long history of the Blacks, he himself was considered a new member, and new members were never assigned side duties until they had served for a year.

The work that kept him busy all related to House Potter. Already his challenge to Lord Flint on the floor of the Wizengamot had gotten results, much to Sirius' surprise. The offer to call off the blood feud for anyone who would swear an oath against Voldemort had been little more than a jab at Flint, but it got results nevertheless. Three different Lords and one Heir apparent ended up inquiring via owl if that offer still stood.

The next Wizengamot meeting would be just as lively as the previous, it seemed. Sirius found himself looking forward to it. Of course, he had business to conduct before that could happen.

The door to the house opened before Sirius could knock, and the owner greeted him with a glare. They had not spoken since the Order meeting where the Potters were revealed, though Harry had insisted that the man could be trusted. Despite their history, Sirius was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He only hoped that the sentiment was mutual.

"Snape," said Sirius in greeting.

"Black," replied Snape. He then stepped to the side, inviting Sirius in.

Once they were in the living room of Snape's home, Sirius turned to face his host. Snape was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest, tension in every movement. Sirius could tell that Snape was angry, but whether it was about Sirius himself or about the situation overall was unclear.

They had had almost no direct interaction over the course of the past year, even during Order meetings. Sirius had taken Harry's advice to heart, and tried to listen to what was said - and what was not - during each gathering. The result was that he often found himself in the back of the room, observing, just as Snape was wont to do.

After one such meeting, Snape had cornered his host in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, and demanded to know what had happened to cause the prankster to stop acting the fool. Sirius had looked Snape in the eye and said, calmly, that "Harry happened." He went on to explain to the Potions Master that he had spent long enough ignoring what was important, and that right now he was all that Harry had. He would be damned if he walked away from that.

Snape had nodded in grudging respect, and they had been cordial ever since. Neither man knew how prophetic those words would be when the Potters emerged from hiding.

It was obvious to Sirius that the Potters remained the focus of Snape's anger, even after close to a month since their return. The topic was sensitive enough that Sirius refused to bring it up. Instead, he took a piece of parchment and set it on the coffee table.

"What is this?" asked Snape.

"It's troubling how easily one can learn the most recent home address of a young muggleborn witch these days," Sirius said. What he did not mention was how quickly Madam Bones had acted when she learned what a young witch in the records office was doing for extra galleons. Selling information to the death eaters was not something she was willing to allow.

"Why would I care, Black? I can look up the records at Hogwarts if I so desired - which I don't."

"Ah, but that's the trick. You don't care, but I'll bet the Dark Lord does."

Snape stared at him. "Why would I give him this information, if he hasn't asked for it?"

Sirius leaned forward. "There's a certain young muggleborn witch we both know, who recently helped put a dozen of the Dark Lord's finest in the ground. You're telling me that he wouldn't want to get some payback?"

The Potions Master's eyes narrowed. "What's really going on here?"

Rather than answer the question, Sirius met Snape's gaze. "Every battle in which death eaters are killed or captured brings us one step closer to the day when the Dark Lord gets angry enough to lead an attack in person." He tapped the parchment on the table. "I suspect that this particular muggle home will be quite well defended, should the death eaters attempt to enter uninvited."

Snape gave Sirius a hard look, appraising him. "Why does Potter want Miss Granger's home to be attacked?"

Sirius grinned. "Did I say that this was the most recent address? My apologies, Professor, but that's not strictly true…"

OoOoOoOo

After the meal, Colonel Ramsay introduced Bill and Arthur Weasley to a muggle game known as darts. When Bill asked why the Colonel wasn't playing, Ramsay said that he wanted them to have an enjoyable first game.

"Don't listen to him, Bill," said Harry. "Ron beat him just a week ago, and he's been nursing his wounded pride about it ever since."

"Mister Potter," Ramsay said in a serious tone. "I'll have you know that I was throwing bullseyes long before you were born. That one of your teammates managed to get lucky doesn't change that undisputed fact." The amusement in his eyes told everyone that he was kidding, but Harry - who had turned to say something to Susan - very nearly snapped to attention.

"Sir, yes sir!" He responded cheekily, getting laughs from the group.

"So, this game is part of the training you all were doing this week?" asked Arthur.

Harry nodded. "It helps with precision casting, and getting in the habit of tracking a target with your wand arm."

Bill chose that moment to throw, ignoring the groan from his father when the dart struck the triple twenty. Turning, he looked at Harry.

"I think I get it," Bill said. He looked thoughtful for a moment, before continuing. "Was there anything you do for fun around here that doesn't involve training in some way?"

Amelia watched as Harry placed a hand on his chin, as if considering the question. To her amusement, she saw Susan cover her mouth to stifle her laugh. Harry looked over at her, and seemed to get the joke immediately, for he too looked as if he were about to laugh.

Colonel Ramsay saved him. "Be very careful how you answer that question, Mister Potter."

Harry acted sheepish at the rebuke. "Aye aye, sir." The navy-style response caused a chuckling Ramsay to throw a bottle cap at him. Harry's seeker reflexes did not fail him, and he snatched the cap out of the air. The act did its job, and again the group found itself laughing.

As the conversation moved on, Harry noticed a dark brown owl sitting on one of the eaves of the manor. It looked at him expectantly, and he could see a note attached to its foot.

oOoOoOoOo

The only real mention of the battles to come was made by Arthur Weasley, shortly before he and his wife departed.

"I want you to know that we're proud of you, Harry," Arthur told his host. "I know you're way to young for all of this, but if there's anyone who can handle it, it'd be you."

"Thank you," Harry replied, quietly. "I knew it would upset some people when I started fighting the death eaters on their terms, deadly force against deadly force. But I probably still would have done it."

"If the Ministry could handle the problem, then you wouldn't need to." Arthur said. "Capture them, and they escape or just buy their way out. No, I understand."

Harry sighed. "That's just it, isn't it? And the rub is that if it gets much worse, the ICW will swoop in and settle things once and for all." Harry's eyes met Arthur's. "Can you picture the response from the Ministry if a team of foreigners came in and waged the war they should have been waging?"

Arthur could indeed picture that response, and he knew exactly how bad it would be - for the Ministry. "Their patience is gone, isn't it?"

Harry nodded. "And on the other side, we have the Muggle government. They, too, could easily run out of patience."

Again, Arthur knew how bad things would be - for the Ministry - if that happened.

"So," Harry continued. "This isn't a great option, but it's the only way we saw to thread the needle."

Arthur really had no response to that. He should be angrier, for his son and daughter were following this boy - no, this man - into danger. Harry Potter was leading them into a war. But then he thought about the cane he had so recently put away, and about the burning pain he still had in his right knee whenever it rained. He thought about the scars he carried, and would carry for the rest of his life, both from the bite and the venom. Then he realized that he had this man to thank for that life.

No, instead of telling this teenager to run to safety, to hide, to do _anything_ other than rush into battle, Arthur Weasley found himself shaking Harry Potter's hand.

"Keep them safe, son."

Harry nodded again, touched by Mister Weasley's acceptance. "I will, sir."

oOoOoOoOo

After escorting Susan to the floo, and giving her a lingering hug in farewell, Harry escorted Amelia Bones to the training room.

When they entered, Neville and Colonel Ramsay were already discussing the plan for the evening's engagement. In the sandbox that dominated the center of the room, Amelia saw a muggle house and its surroundings. The front and back yards were displayed, including the sidewalk and roadway in front of the house. At the edges of the model were the sidewalls of the two adjacent houses. The backyard was deep enough to prevent whatever house was behind this one from showing up. Whoever had prepared the model even included the three trees in the backyard and the one out front.

"Thank you for staying, Amelia," Colonel Ramsay say by way of greeting. "I suggested that the lads here brief you on their plans for this evening, so that they can plausibly say that their actions were in self defense."

Amelia had known for months that it would come to this, and had welcomed it. Once she met with Harry, it was obvious how serious he was about preparing himself and his team for the battles to come. Her maneuvers with the ICW, and her off-the-books support through the DMLE, had all been intended to help while keeping the team at arm's length. Harry had insisted on that, not wanting to compromise her then-precarious position within the Ministry.

Now that the war had been declared, and the team was moving on the offensive, Amelia found that she had mixed feelings. This was no longer her assisting Lord Potter, so that he could do what he was going to do anyway. Now, this was watching her niece's boyfriend, or prospective boyfriend at least, as he went off to pick a fight.

 _It was so much easier before I saw how Susan looked at him,_ thought Amelia. Stepping up to the sandbox, she gestured at the model.

"Walk me through your plan, Harry." It was not an order, but Harry treated it as such - another sign of the respect he showed her at every turn, despite not being under her command.

Harry handed a small parchment over to Amelia. It read simply " _Potion came out a lovely shade of green. Expect it to cool tonight."_

"We've arranged for the death eaters to learn the home address of one Hermione Granger and her parents," began Harry. He ignored the look of anger on Amelia's face, and worked the controls of the sandbox. Eight small figurines emerged from the sand, each wearing black robes and masks.

Amelia leaned closer, and saw that the masks were not death eater masks, but muggle clown ones instead. She looked at Harry, who shrugged.

"It seemed appropriate," was his only response.

"I see," she answered. "Go on, then. You were talking about endangering Miss Granger's family, I believe?"

Harry almost cringed at her tone, for the disapproval was clear. "No, Director, the address they received is for a house I recently purchased in Crawley. It turns out a pair of dentists had the chance to start a new practice in another city, and took advantage of the opportunity. Their muggleborn daughter moved with them, just last week." He smiled at her, attempting to look innocent. "Remarkable coincidence, that."

"Quite," replied Amelia.

"The house is mostly empty, but enough furniture remains to maintain the illusion of a typical muggle home. The only difference is that we've added a ward scheme." As Harry spoke, a faint dome of magic appeared over the house.

"Why would you ward an empty house?" Amelia asked.

Neville answered that one. "The ward is about as weak as it can be without collapsing on its own, Director. I could probably breach it with a few rocks and a stiff breeze."

Amelia frowned. "Then why bother with the wards at all?"

"Two reasons," answered Colonel Ramsay. "First, it will focus their attention on the correct house, since this house is the only obviously magical one anywhere nearby. Second, these wards are the only ones they will detect, so when they fall the death eaters will believe that there are no further defenses. They will congratulate each other on breaching the defenses, and charge into the home."

At this, Harry changed the model to show the first floor of the home. At the center was an opaque sphere, which seemed to show a much more powerful shield charm.

"Once they are in the house," said Harry, "They will find what looks like three muggles hiding in the dining room behind a shield." Harry pointed out small lines across every path to the dining room as he spoke. "When the death eaters cross these lines, the shield will fall and the illusion will disappear."

"The death eaters will wonder what happened, thinking that the muggles are still hiding behind a disillusionment charm or something similar. They will enter the dining room." Neville handed a small object over to Amelia, who took it without looking. "All they will find is a dozen of these."

Amelia looked down at the small object. It was a rectangular object made of a material she did not recognize, though she was sure that she had seen it elsewhere. The object was light green in color. What drew her eye was the message written in bold letters across one side.

"Front toward enemy," she said quietly.

"These are called Claymore mines," said Ramsay, off of her look. "When the death eaters are in or near the dining room, these mines will be triggered. The resulting explosion will incinerate the house and anyone who happens to be inside at the time."

"You're slaughtering them," said Amelia. It was not a question.

"They broke through the wards on a house that I own, intending to do harm to people under the protection of House Potter," Harry said. His voice was calm, for he knew that Amelia's statement had not been criticism. But this was how he had to phrase the legal argument, the one he would give if questioned about the night's events. "No one will question a wizard defending his property."

"And if they are actually under the imperius?" Amelia did not seriously believe that that would be the case, but she, too, was considering the legal ramifications. Harry would be attacked for this, of that she was certain.

Harry shrugged. "Then I will mourn them. But Hermione and her parents would have been just as dead, imperius or no."

Amelia had to concede the point - for, in truth, Harry was right. From a legal standpoint, defending one's home against an invader did not require checking each attacker for compulsions or the imperius. That was part of the horror of the curse, especially in the first war. The DMLE had learned of several wizards who had been imperiused into making suicide runs on the Ministry. Unfortunately, they were discovered after the fact.

Amelia pointed to the back yard, still visible on the model. "What if they have lookouts?"

Harry gave her another smile - one that looked eager. "Then, Madam Bones, you'll have prisoners to interrogate tonight."

oOoOoOoOo

"You there, come here." Severus Snape did not know the name of the death eater who walked past his potions lab at Malfoy Manor, but at that moment he simply didn't care.

The man walked over. "Yes, Professor?"

 _Had I taught him at some point?_ Snape wondered. _I hope not, poor bastard._

The death eater did not see Snape's wand until it was too late.

" _Imperio."_

oOoOoOoOo

Luna had decided to stay over at Hermione's new house that night, mostly to keep her distracted. It had initially been Hermione's idea to use her old house as bait for death eaters, once her parents talked about moving. That didn't mean that she liked seeing the house she grew up in blown up. Besides which, the job really didn't need six people.

So it was that Harry and Neville found themselves sitting under disillusionment charms on the front step of the house across from Hermione's old one. Ron and Ginny would be perched in a tree at the far end of the spacious backyard. They were there to catch any death eaters who didn't make it into the house, and make sure that no one came back out again after the fun began.

Harry was glad that they had thought to take a potion before coming out, for the stake out was much more boring that he had anticipated. Nor could he chat with Neville, lest they risk tipping off a lurking enemy. So they sat their silent vigil, waiting and watching.

Just after two in the morning, they heard multiple pops of apparition. A group of black-robed figures brazenly appeared in the middle of the street. They didn't even bother to keep quiet, allowing Harry and Neville to listen to their excited chatter.

When Neville recognized one of the voices, he shared a look with Harry. Tonight, apparently, was being used to initiate some new death eaters, it seemed. There was at least one sixth year slytherin that Neville thought he knew, though the name escaped him.

Harry very carefully did not think about how many empty seats there might be at the Slytherin table next term.

Neville used his hands to signal a one and a four, getting a nod from Harry. _Fourteen,_ he translated. _Quite a few more than we expected, with the short notice they must have gotten from Snape._

Harry felt the coin in his pocket vibrate three times, a signal from Ron that they had gotten the message. It was unlikely that anyone would try to get out the back door, but then again, Harry had not expected them to just wander up to the property, either.

The wards fell at that point, and all but one of the death eaters walked up to the house. None of them checked the perimeter, none of them attempted to circle the house and prevent an escape. They just walked in, bold as brass, under the assumption that there was nothing muggles could do to them.

 _If only they knew,_ thought Harry.

Harry's coin buzzed again when the death eaters got close enough to collapse the illusion, and Harry shared a glance with Neville. Nodding to each other, they covered their ears.

The early morning silence was broken by an earth shattering BOOM. Looking up, Harry and Neville watched the remains of the former Granger home fall to the ground. Only the outer walls remained standing, and those would not last long against the heat. The death eater who remained outside had been knocked down by debris, and was not moving.

"Neville?" Harry asked, quietly, not taking his eyes off of the wreckage.

Neville had the grace to look sheepish, as he kept his eyes on the downed lookout. "You know how they blame death eater attacks on 'gas main leaks', like Luna said?" Off Harry's nod, Neville grinned. "Well, this time they won't be lying about it."

As a cover story, it worked - Harry just wished he had been prepared for that large of a blast.

Harry and Neville walked cautiously forward, toward the street. Harry moved to the fallen death eater, applying one of the DMLE portkeys Madam Bones had given them. When the death eater disappeared, he would end up in a secure holding cell, much to his surprise.

Neville held position just off the sidewalk, covering Harry in case the death eater wasn't as down as they thought. It was a fortunate decision, for it meant that he was able to see another death eater running toward them from further down the street. Neville's shield sprang to life just as the portkey activated, defending Harry.

The death eater attacked with a vengeance, enraged at the cowardly attack he had witnessed, and fearful of the fate that awaited him when the news reached the Dark Lord. If he could bring back the body of one of the lions, he reasoned, perhaps he would be spared a cruciatus.

Neville took the lead on offense, having seen that the attacker was focused on Harry. Harry saw the shift, and went into a defensive mode, shielding Neville as he attacked. The death eater, unprepared for the change, kept firing at Harry while trying to shield against Neville. He was mostly successful, to his credit, but that success didn't last long.

Only one of his spells hit, a weak bone breaker that resulted in a sprained shoulder on Neville. Annoyed at himself, Neville tagged the death eater's foot with a _flipendo,_ causing his feet to shoot out from under him. The motion had the effect of slamming the man's head into the pavement, knocking him out. A stunner from Harry ensured that it would stick.

Once the attacker was portkeyed away, Neville and Harry stood there, catching their breath. Ron and Ginny had already portkeyed to the Burrow, once it was clear that there were no further attackers.

After a moment, Harry and Neville looked at each other. Harry spoke first, in what would become a small tradition for the pair.

"Want some coffee?" he asked.

oOoOoOoOo

Dobby grumbled at the "Grimy Master Longbottomses and Filthy Master Harry Sirs," when he saw the two standing in the kitchen of Potter Manor, coffee cups in hand, laughing about something or other.

Both had been too wired to go to sleep, and so they had spent the remainder of the night talking about nothing of consequence. Their cups of coffee had been replenished several times, and a tray of leftovers from the party had been put to good use. Neither of them minded that they were still in their battle gear, though their longcoats had been set aside in the interests of comfort.

They both needed the down time, as it turned out. Neither noticed the light beginning to stream into the windows as the sun began to rise.

Harry's face was still covered in soot from the fire, but cleaning it off would require either magic (which he didn't feel like using), or a washroom (which would have required getting up). Neville mixed soot and a small amount of blood from a tumble on the pavement during his brief encounter with the last death eater. His shoulder had been healed, though the longcoat would need repair. As it was, Neville looked like he had been in a battle.

Which, of course, made it a brilliant moment for a vulture patronus to appear on the kitchen counter.

Harry could not hear the message, as it was just for Neville's ears. The look of shock on his friend's face, however, told Harry all he needed to know. That, and the fact that he knew of only one witch who had a vulture patronus.

 _What would Neville's gran want at seven in the morning?_ Harry wasn't sure, but knew that he probably wouldn't like the answer.

Standing, Neville looked angry - and Harry was reminded of the look on his friend's face during the battle several hours before.

"I need to go," said Neville. "They're home."

"Oh," was all Harry could say to that. "Rubbish timing, that." He gestured at his friend. "Nev, you want to grab a shower before you go?"

Neville gave him a grin. "Nope."

oOoOoOoOo

Daphne Greengrass was annoyed.

She knew her grandfather was friends with Augusta Longbottom, and had been for decades. She knew that her family had been close with the Longbottoms. She knew that she got along with Neville, but that their interactions were strictly related to classwork.

She also knew that her father had dragged her out of bed and made her get dressed before sunrise, so that she could accompany her grandfather to Longbottom Hall. When they arrived, she learned that Neville's parents had somehow been healed of their debilitating cruciatus exposure, and were scheduled to come home this morning. Daphne and her grandfather, the Lord Greengrass, were to be part of the welcome home party.

What annoyed her was that Neville Longbottom, the Heir Longbottom and only son of the returning Lord and Lady Longbottom, was not there. It wasn't that he hadn't gotten out of bed yet, but that he had not come home the night prior.

 _Where the hell would Neville Longbottom, of all people, have been last night?_ Daphne had no idea.

For some reason, the missing heir seemed to bother her grandfather as well, though she had no idea why.

Frank and Alice Longbottom, accompanied by one of their healers from Saint Mungo's, had arrived via floo just after eight o'clock. Augusta, who had seen them the day before, had almost wept at the homecoming. Daphne's grandfather had offered his heartfelt congratulations, as had Daphne, with her polite curtsey. Alice had scoffed at the formal gesture, and grabbed her for a crushing hug.

The hug nagged at Daphne, somehow. As she understood it, the Longbottoms had been essentially locked in their own minds, and would have experienced the years as if it had been some timeless interval. This, though, felt to Daphne as if Alice was greeting her after a long absence. It was the gesture of someone who knew how long they had been gone, rather than someone who had fallen during an attack and woke up in hospital, some fifteen years later.

She couldn't put a finger on it, but the gesture troubled her.

As Augusta was explaining that Neville was not home for some reason, the oaken doors of the entrance hall slammed open. There, silhouetted by the morning sun, was Neville Longbottom.

Daphne was startled by his appearance. The Heir Longbottom was wearing what seemed to be a basilisk skin longcoat, and one that had seen battle if that shoulder was any indication. His face was covered in blood and soot, and his hair was dirtied with ash.

 _What in Merlin's name had Neville been up to?_

The detail that grabbed Frank Longbottom's attention was the wand in Neville's hand. The wand that was aimed at his heart. The wand that seemed to be glowing with magic just waiting to be released.

Neville spoke quietly, but his words echoed throughout the room.

"Who the hell are you?"

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **It amuses me to publish this chapter, involving (arguably) two successful barbeques orchestrated by Harry Potter, just after I published a chapter of The Prisoners' Tale, where that version of Harry Potter utterly ruined a simple meal cooked over a fire. Here, Harry firmly believes that the death eaters win if people stop living their lives. It's an idea that became prominent in 2001, following the September 11th attacks, but predates them as well - and is exactly the sort of maxim that a man like Colonel Ramsay would live by.**

 **I also wanted to give the group a bit of down time. This version of the Ministry Six is a much more tightly-knit group than in canon. If, for example, this Ron and Hermione were asked to not correspond with Harry, they would ignore the request - after they stopped laughing, of course. For Harry, having access to Potter Manor isn't a show of wealth or status, it's simply a home.**

 **This story, as of this writing, has 1,058 favorites and 1,605 Followers, with over 125,000 views. It's one of the top ten Harry/Susan stories on FFN, which is itself mindblowing to me. So, to all who continue to support this story, thank you.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**

 **Edited 3 July 2020 - The Black Account Manager from Keystone Council inadvertently made a cameo as the Potter Account Manager here. So, Sharpclaw has been removed in favor of Twinblade. Apologies for the confusion, and special thanks to Dannyboy2k for pointing out the error.**


	15. The Homecoming

"Who the hell are you?"

Daphne Greengrass stood frozen as she watched one of her classmates threaten his own father and head of house. She had never seen Neville Longbottom as angry as he was in that moment, nor had she ever expected to see him so prepared for a battle. A basilisk-skin longcoat, boots that were clearly made for combat despite their muggle style, visible knives on his belt. He was every inch a warrior, and right now it was his father that faced him down.

"Neville?" Frank asked, cautiously. The former auror was not going to make a sudden move and inflame the situation. Even his hands were open and out from his sides, despite the fact that he was not carrying a wand. As he took in the appearance of his son, Frank Longbottom's features seemed to soften, though Daphne could see the effort it took him - the stress of the situation obviously made it hard to have an emotional moment.

Neville, meanwhile, was having none of it. "A week ago, I visited my parents at Saint Mungo's. As I left, a healer bumped into me and spilled a potion I later identified as polyjuice. When I returned here, Gran said that we needed to go back, and we did - only to find that my parents had switched places, as if one had been given the polyjuice for the other." Neville's eyes remained focused on Frank, and his wand never wavered as he spoke. "So I followed my instincts, and placed a tracking charm on my father's wedding ring."

Alice Longbottom gasped at that - a reaction that struck Daphne as odd. Was she upset that some sort of potions mixup had happened, or that polyjuice was involved somehow in her treatment, or perhaps that her son had felt the need to use tracking charms to reassure himself that his parents were safe. Then she understood. _If he had a tracking charm, and it worked, he wouldn't be confronting… oh, Merlin._ Daphne's thoughts were interrupted when Neville cast a spell with his second wand - a wand she hadn't seen him draw.

The spell he cast was the spell used to follow a tracking charm. Like a _Point Me_ spell, it would direct the caster to the target. Unlike the simpler version, however, this spell would make the charmed item or person glow briefly. It was useful for verifying that the charm had been cast correctly, or for calibrating enchanted devices that used the charm.

Neville's expression hardened when no tracking charm was revealed.

"Whoever was in that hospital, whoever that healer took us to see, whoever they've been parading about as Frank and Alice Longbottom, it wasn't you." Neville's voice was low and cold, and Daphne could hear the anger behind it. Now his reaction made sense - he knew, or thought he knew, that these people were impostors.

Daphne saw Alice's hand reach into her robe, only to stop suddenly. Her eyes grew wide as a voice came from behind her.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't do that." The air behind her shimmered, as if someone had pulled away an invisibility cloak. There, standing behind the woman who said she was Alice Longbottom, wand aimed at the base of her skull, was Harry Potter. The fact that he was just as prepared for battle as Neville was the least surprising thing about this newest reveal.

Daphne almost gasped at the sight. Harry Potter, the Lord Potter, was here supporting Neville - and doing so when Neville was basically calling his father an impostor. Again, she wanted to shake her head. _Merlin,_ she thought. The political implications alone were staggering.

"Perhaps we should all calm down," said the strong voice of her grandfather. Lord Trevor Greengrass was sitting next to his old friend Augusta Longbottom, watching the action with narrowing eyes. "Frank, if Neville is telling the truth, it does raise some concerns that should probably be addressed." Lord Greengrass kept his voice calm and polite, but it was clearly the voice of authority he always used - people listened to him and heeded him for a reason.

"I don't know what to say," Frank said, his eyes locked on Neville's. "I am your father, the Lord Longbottom." He held up his hand, showing the Lord's ring.

"That does look like the ring, Neville," observed Trevor Greengrass.

Neville took a step forward. "Either he is lying, or Saint Mungo's has been lying for fifteen years. Which is more likely, Lord Greengrass?"

Trevor looked thoughtful. "An oath would clear things up, I believe."

Frank Longbottom was not going to wait for something to set Neville off. "I swear, on my life and magic, that I am Franklin Charlus John Longbottom, son of Johannes and Augusta Longbottom, Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom, and that I have spent most of the last fifteen years hidden away in a keep of waking nightmares as a direct result of exposure to the _cruciatus_ curse." His voice rose in anger as he gave the oath, and to Daphne's ear it sounded like the righteous anger of the wrongly accused. It carried with it the undercurrent of _How dare you question me?_ , something she heard often in the Slytherin common room.

The soft glow that sealed the oath was met with utter silence.

Daphne saw the look of shock on Neville's face, as well as the look of anger on Madam Longbottom's. Neville had clearly not expected a successful oath, and did not have his next move ready. _Typical Gryffindor,_ Daphne thought to herself. The Regent Longbottom's anger was easily explained, as well, once Daphne understood that it was not directed at Neville. She was just now realizing that there had indeed been some sort of coverup at the hospital, and she had not been informed.

Harry Potter's reaction drew her gaze across the room, where he still stood behind Alice Longbottom. His eyes were narrowed, and he was clearly thinking through the implications of the oath. He glanced at Alice, who seemed to sense the movement.

She, too, had no wand in hand, but could give an oath just as easily as her husband. "I swear on my life and magic that I am Alice Longbottom, the Lady Longbottom, and that I gave birth to the wizard before me, Neville Franklin Longbottom, at Longbottom Hall on July 30th 1980." Again, magic glowed softly around her, sealing the oath and proving the truth of her words.

The specificity of the oath caught Daphne's attention, even as magic accepted it. She had directed the oath at her son in two ways, and had either one been false the oath would have failed. By identifying Neville using his name and the fact that he was standing in front of her, it meant that the oath could apply only to him. No chance of word games here - only the wizard before her would satisfy the oath, if indeed she had birthed him, and then only if his name was as she said it.

Oaths were powerful, and widely trusted. But anyone who had spent five years in Slytherin knew how precisely they had to be worded, or else they were worthless under scrutiny.

Everyone in the room seemed frozen, waiting for Neville's reaction. Slowly, ever so slowly, his wand lowered. He remained focused on his father, clearly trying to come up with something to say. Frank beat him to it.

"Well," he began, trying very hard to ease the tension. "That's not quite how I thought this would go." He smiled at Neville, trying to calm him, though Daphne noticed his eyes go to his wife as he spoke. He was speaking to both of them, it seemed.

For the first time, Neville glanced away from his father, making eye contact with Harry. Daphne saw that Potter had already stepped back, away from Alice, and was nodding to his friend. That was enough for him, it seemed, for Neville took it as a signal and lowered his cherry wand. Looking from his mother to his father, he actually smiled.

"Mum?" He said, tiredly. "Dad?"

Alice could wait no longer. She stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her son. Neither of them noticed when Frank joined the embrace.

The only words Daphne could make out from the Longbottoms were the words of Alice, spoken with a sigh of relief. "At last."

oOoOoOoOo

Ambrose Rookwood sighed as he walked back into his study, as his eyes swept across the stack of journals still sitting on the desk. He had finished two of his father's journals, and found himself no closer to understanding the man.

What he had learned did little to reassure him that supporting the Dark Lord was the wisest course. He had told Flint that his house would support Voldemort, and that had seemed to be the safest option at the time. Ambrose knew he could not support Dumbledore, and the Ministry was the result of decades of the Headmaster's influence. No, Voldemort was the only real option

But then he read about the Dark Mark, and the blood sacrifice - the literal human sacrifice - that it required. Could he execute someone and watch them die, just to tie his magic to the Dark Lord?

He thought back to that envelope, and the green seal, that marked his invitation to the Death Eaters. Such things are not given lightly, and to decline it was not without risk. If asked again, could he afford to say no?

Lifting the next journal in the stack, Ambrose seated himself on the leather couch by the fireplace. The previous journal had detailed conversations between his father and the Dark Lord, who had at that point been at the start of his insurgency. The elder Rookwood had quickly proved himself to be the most intelligent recruit they had had in some time, and his insight into their activities turned the course of the war in their favor.

On several occasions, Augustus Rookwood had planned operations that resulted in no Death Eater losses - something that could not often be said before his arrival. Voldemort had been impressed, and soon began taking the young unspeakable into his confidence.

Ambrose was shocked to read about one occasion when the Dark Lord had played wizard's chess with his father. It was hard to picture such a scene, given what he knew of both men.

He found his place in the latest journal, and continued to read.

 _8 December 1976_

 _To the wizards of House Rookwood, there is no bad source of information._

 _Let me put it another way. Even the lies we are told can give us insight into the liars. Take the latest drivel printed in the Prophet - the important part is not what the articles say. No, the truth of the matter is what the articles do not say, or the facts that they take great pains to avoid._

 _A Ministry official telling the paper that everything is under control is worthless. When the people see that the aurors never respond until after we are gone, when the mudblood-owned shops are the ones that continue burning long after the pureblood-owned shops have been put out? The people know which way the wind is blowing._

 _The entire Ministry house of cards would collapse in on itself if the reporter looked up at the Ministry official, smiled politely, and then said two words. Just two little words, that would be all it would take._

" _Prove it."_

 _When we control the Ministry, there will be no empty words. No, when the Dark Lord speaks, the world will listen, for His words will be backed by his overwhelming power, and by the manifest rightness of his cause._

 _Magic demands that we win. I just wish we could win faster. The Dark Lord is playing chess, while the Ministry is fumbling about with gobstones. Caution is rarely a mistake, but I worry that we are missing opportunities by taking the slow path._

 _In this, though, I must trust my Master. I would not wear his Mark if I did not know with certainty that His path was the right one._

"Rookwood! Are you there?"

Ambrose looked up as the voice came from the fireplace. He smiled as he recognized the voice of one of his housemates in the year below his. The boy had had trouble reading when he came to Hogwarts, and Ambrose had tutored him during that long first year. They had been friends ever since, which gave Ambrose a means of keeping an eye on the Malfoy heir.

"Rookwood!" came the voice of Vincent Crabbe, and now Ambrose could detect the urgency in the call.

"Crabbe?" Ambrose answered, frowning. "What's wrong?"

"Can we come through?" Vincent Crabbe asked, ignoring the question.

"Of course," replied Ambrose, opening the wards to allow floo travel.

When the flames turned green, his friend stepped through - along with a sobbing witch. She had short, dark hair, and her robes were torn and dirty. The left sleeve had been ripped off, and Ambrose could see blood on her forearm. He caught only a glimpse of her face before she turned it toward Crabbe, but it was enough to identify her.

"Miss Parkinson, welcome to House Rookwood." When she didn't reply, Ambrose looked at Crabbe. "What happened?"

oOoOoOoOo

Barnabas Cuffe looked down at the note from his daughter, and knew that he had a decision to make.

 ** _ICW refuses to release DE prisoners, MF livid. DE rescue attempt saw 4 more captured.  
_ _DMLE investigating explosion at muggleborn house in Crawley, 14 dead - all with dark mark.  
_ _MF in meetings with Flint and Parkinson before dawn Sunday.  
_ _Everyone is worried. Not sure who to trust. Be safe. -Elle_**

Usually, Eleanor's notes were hints at policies or meetings out of the Minister's office. At best, they might point him toward a question to ask, or a source to contact. He knew that Fudge had given his daughter information at times, knowing full well that it would make its way to the Prophet's editor in chief. Everyone accepted that as part of the game, and Cuffe even preferred it to the heavy-handed Ministry directives of the past year.

Now, though, he could almost feel his daughter's concern coming up out of the parchment. Any one of these stories was a game changer, and to have all of them published in one edition just highlighted that the war had begun in earnest.

The ICW story followed on from the revelations before the Wizengamot, where Madam Bones categorically refused to release prisoners she had already handed over. The darker families - those who still attended meetings - had been livid. Then, Sirius Black challenged them to repudiate the Dark Lord, and all of them refused. They might as well have revealed their dark marks to the world - and everyone in the chamber knew it.

It was not a surprise that Voldemort had sent his death eaters to attempt a rescue. It was an escalation, but some of the governments on the continent could probably be convinced to look the other way, even when the target was the ICW. With most of his inner circle in custody, the risk may have seemed worth the reward.

The result, however, proved otherwise. Four more death eaters captured, two killed, and several others injured before they were able to escape. What's more, Cuffe had a source at The Hague who revealed that the prisoners had been nowhere near the site of the battle - someone had fed the death eaters a false location, and led them into a team of ICW hitwizards.

An article that showed the death eaters as fools stumbling into a trap might reassure a worried public. On the other hand, it might anger the Dark Lord enough to target the paper.

Of course, if the ICW article didn't get a rise out of You-Know-Who, then the Crawley article _definitely_ would. Death eaters attacked the home of a muggleborn, only to find that the home was warded. When they broke through the wards and entered the house, something they did caused a massive explosion. His source in the DMLE told him that there were two other wizards who had been there that night, and both were in custody.

He thought back to the letter he had gotten the week prior. _The number of muggleborn homes with wards is increasing, according to a specialist at Gringott's. We expect that the newest members of our community will not be the soft targets they were in the last war._ Crawley proved that, certainly.

The purebloods would probably object, but when the death eaters prove that the concern is a valid one, who can really object to muggleborns defending themselves? Perhaps he would wait on the list of the dead, and then publish one article.

It was the third note that worried Cuffe. Lord Thomas Parkinson had been one of the stalwart neutrals in the Wizengamot, even though his brother John had been a rumored death eater. Indeed, John Parkinson was one of the few wizards arrested at the Quidditch World Cup in '94, getting off with a fine and a slap on the wrist.

The current Lord Parkinson would not be meeting with Lord Flint and the Minister at all, if he could help it. Certainly not in the wee hours on a Sunday. Cuffe suspected that something had changed - but what?

It was early in the day, he had plenty of time - perhaps the DMLE could give him something more. With enough of an anonymous tip, any one of these articles could lead the Monday edition. But which one?

oOoOoOoOo

Once the newly reunited Longbottoms had calmed themselves, Harry Potter had offered his greetings to Lord and Lady Longbottom in the traditional manner. Frank had not expected his son's friend to greet him as Lord Potter, but quickly stepped back into the formal mode of one allied house addressing another.

Harry had then begged off, saying that he did not want to intrude on what was clearly an important family conversation. He offered the excuse that he had not slept yet, and it had already been a long morning. After giving his regards to Madam Longbottom and Lord Greengrass, he shook Neville's hand. For Daphne, he offered a bow far more formal than circumstances required, before giving her a jaunty little salute as he walked out of the hall.

"Where were you all night, Lord Potter?" Daphne found herself asking, unable to hide her curiosity.

"Crawley," was his only answer, before he stepped out into the morning sun. Neville's eye roll at that response told her that she would find out more before long.

The Longbottoms, along with the Greengrasses, sat down for a light brunch, during which Alice and Frank caught up with Neville's life so far. It seemed that Madam Longbottom, who had spoken with them briefly at the hospital, had given them the broad outlines, but now they wanted details.

"I don't care about your grades, Neville," said Alice. Off Neville's look of surprise, she smirked. "Not yet, anyway! Plenty of time for that later. What I want to hear about are the little moments, things that we've missed after all this time."

So, Neville told them about himself. How he had tried to use his father's wand, only for it to perform no better than a stick of wood in his hands - and the meltdown that had resulted, when he convinced himself that he was a squib. When they met with Ollivander, he had been shocked to find his cherry wand on the very first try - a life changing moment.

The stories continued for more than an hour, and Daphne was not spared her own questioning - their families had long been close, in part due to the close friendship between her grandfather and the Regent Longbottom. _Former regent, now,_ thought Daphne.

Eventually, Lord Greengrass suggested that Neville escort Daphne on a walk around the property, as he wanted to bring Frank and Alice up to date on the happenings in the Wizengamot. Neville looked amused at the request, and offered his arm to his guest as they walked out onto the grounds.

Neither of them said a word as they walked down the stone path, across the front of Longbottom Hall, before going up a gentle slope. At the top, they found a small gazebo that overlooked the front gate and the path leading up the hill toward the manor.

Daphne walked to the railing, and looked out on the countryside. It was a clear day, and the midmorning sun seemed to make the vista that much more impressive. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"When I need to think, I either end up out here or in my greenhouses," Neville admitted, taking a seat on one of the benches. "With the right amount of breeze, this spot is perfect for meditating."

"I can see that," she agreed. After a few moments, she seated herself across from Neville, and her expression shifted from pureblood heiress to consummate slytherin.

Neville saw the questions forming, and knew exactly what they would be. Deciding to surprise his friend, he gave her a disarming grin.

"Did you know that James and Lily Potter are alive?" Neville's words had the desired effect, and he could not stifle his laugh at Daphne's look of utter shock.

She was not amused at his laughter. "Explain," she ordered.

So Neville told the tale. James and Lily - and their other son, Harry's twin - had been sequestered for close to fifteen years, with the full knowledge of the Headmaster. Harry had been left to live with muggles, and awful ones at that, while his family lived in comfort and safety. And then, after everything he had dealt with, they came back and told him that his twin was actually the boy-who-lived.

"Merlin," Daphne whispered.

"Exactly," said Neville, with a nod. "So they tried to install James Potter as Lord Potter, but Harry had already taken up the ring, since the Ministry screwed him into the tournament last year. About the only good that came of that farce, I think."

"No surprise that he didn't hand it over," Daphne remarked. "I take it that didn't go over well?"

"No, no it did not," said Neville. "Did you see the cut on his cheek? That didn't come from last night, he got that from his father backhanding him."

Daphne shook her head. "Gryffindors," she muttered.

Again, Neville chuckled. "I'd like to think we're more complicated than most of our housemates, Heiress Greengrass," he said.

She smirked in turn. "That's as may be, Heir Longbottom," she replied.

"It could be part of the reason your grandfather threw you at me this morning," he remarked.

Daphne sighed. "You noticed that too, then?"

A nod. "Subtle as a nundu, your grandfather."

"He has his moments," she conceded. "Neville…" she began, but trailed off when he raised his hand.

The amusement on Neville's face was gone, replaced with a look of kindness and concern. "Whoever ends up married to you will be a lucky bloke. But it won't be me." He saw the look of relief on her face, and smiled kindly at her. "Daphne, you're a friend. We study together, and see each other socially once or twice a year. Perhaps someday we'll be good friends. But I don't see a relationship working between us, do you?"

"No," she agreed. "I respect you, and I do enjoy our study sessions, but dating? Courting? No, I don't think we would work out at all."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, enjoying the beautiful day, before Daphne asked the question that had bothered her since that morning.

"You told me about the Potters, but why does that matter to how you handled this morning?" She looked thoughtful, her eyes focused on her host. "I know your father was shocked when you walked in, as was your gran."

Neville sighed, and suddenly seemed exhausted. "Look at it this way. Dumbledore tried to elevate a Lord Potter that he could control, someone to sit at his right hand and conduct the war between the dark and the light. In one move, Harry ruined that plan." He glanced back at Longbottom Hall, before continuing. "Then, that very day, we learn that two patients at Saint Mungo's had been polyjuiced to look like my parents, and that an experimental treatment had had promising results. It's a miracle, Lord and Lady Longbottom are going to wake up!"

Daphne saw it immediately. "You thought it was a play for the Longbottom seat."

A nod. "I thought it might be something like that, yeah. So I tagged 'Dad' with a tracking charm - one that doesn't show up here." He shrugged, rolling his shoulders as if to work out stiffness. "I bet Luna and Hermione will be researching that question before the week is out, trying to figure out what happened - and why."

The slytherin's eyes narrowed. "The plan with the Potters was ambitious, probably overly complicated, and doesn't seem to gain them anything."

"Right in one," Neville agreed. He was not going to tell her about the prophecy, even though that weighed heavily on Dumbledore's strategy with the Potters. He trusted her, but not that far - not yet, anyway. "But this is the Headmaster we're talking about. Any plan that can be done once can be done twice."

Her eyes grew wide. "You thought he had your parents hidden away somewhere?"

Neville's fatigue seemed to be catching up with him, and he stifled a yawn. "If you had asked me in April, I would have denied the possibility. But after the Potters... " He shook his head. "I wouldn't put anything past him at this point."

oOoOoOoOo

Vincent Crabbe was on his second coffee when Ambrose Rookwood walked into the kitchen. He almost stood, before Rookwood waved a hand to stop him. Taking a cup for himself, Ambrose seated himself across from Crabbe.

"How is she?" Crabbe asked.

"She's sleeping, for the moment." Ambrose answered. "What did she tell you?"

Crabbe shrugged. "Nothing. She flooed over to my house this morning, screaming. Not a great way to wake up, I can tell you."

"No, I don't imagine it would be." Ambrose replied.

"So, what happened?" Crabbe's voice was more insistent now. Ambrose reminded himself that Pansy had been one of the only slytherins in Crabbe's year to befriend him. Greg Goyle and Draco Malfoy were more of associates than friends, and that only because of relations between their houses. Relations that were now moot, Ambrose realized, as his eyes noted the Head of House ring on Crabbe's finger.

 _She would want him to know,_ Ambrose told himself. _He needs to know._

"Lord Parkinson was killed last night." Ambrose said.

Crabbe's features grew hard. "Who?" he asked, an edge to his voice that had not been there before.

"She doesn't know who exactly, just that it was death eaters." Ambrose said, quietly. "What she does know is that her uncle took up the regency, even going so far as to get a dispensation from Minister Fudge to bypass the Wizengamot. Troubling times and all that, I'm sure."

"Oh, obviously," Crabbe said angrily. "And this morning?"

Ambrose closed his eyes. "Pansy woke up to her uncle ordering her to take the dark mark. She refused, saying that it was a death sentence." He opened his eyes and looked at Crabbe. "That was the wrong thing to say, apparently. The man carved a skull into her arm, saying that she would be marked whether she liked it or not."

It was Crabbe's turn to close his eyes, before shaking his head sadly. "Her uncle's going to get himself killed, if Potter has anything to say about it."

Ambrose stiffened at the mention of his father's killer. Crabbe did not notice the response, thankfully. "How do you mean?"

"It's the blood feud," replied Crabbe. "He doesn't care about going after anyone other than the Dark Lord and his followers. If anyone wants out, they just have to swear neutrality and walk away."

"Right into Dumbledore's arms?" asked Ambrose, a bitter tone in his voice. Crabbe noticed the shift, and raised an eyebrow.

"I don't think so," Crabbe responded. "Potter didn't say that Dumbledore would offer protection, but that _he_ would. Personally." He looked up at Ambrose. "That's not what we expected to hear. It sure surprised Pansy, and she doesn't surprise easily."

Ambrose's eyes narrowed. "When was this?"

"The night we got the notices, in the great hall. I stormed up to Potter, itching for a fight, but then he called a Parlay. It stopped me dead in my tracks. Pansy was asked to witness, and that scared her more than anything. I mean, a for reals blood feud? Who does that?"

"A Parlay?" Ambrose echoed, shocked at what that meant.

"Yep." replied Crabbe. "He offered sanctuary for Mum and I, if I swore neutrality as Head of House. Then he made the same offer to Pansy."

"Why?" asked Ambrose, more to himself than anything. This was not what he expected Potter to do, and it concerned him that he had not anticipated the move.

"Ever hear about Evan Watson?" asked Crabbe.

"No," replied Ambrose, though the name sounded vaguely familiar.

"Look him up," Crabbe said, enigmatically. "Then you'll understand why Potter is willing to agree to Sanctuary, rather than handing us over to the Ministry or the Headmaster."

"I see," said Ambrose. After a moment, he looked at his friend. "So, what will you do?"

Crabbe met his gaze, and in that moment Ambrose did not see the Head of House Crabbe, nor did he see someone who was contemplating going against the Dark Lord. No, in that moment he saw a teenager whose friend was sleeping upstairs after being brutalized. A kid who should be worrying about classes and girls, not how to protect his mother from harm.

Ambrose did not think about the fact that that harm would likely come from people he had already allied himself with, if unofficially. He very carefully did not think about that.

Crabbe sighed, giving the only answer he could. "I don't know."

oOoOoOoOo

Neville Longbottom had politely excused himself when Daphne remarked on the soot that still clung to his hair. His argument that cleaning charms only went so far was poorly received, as he had expected it would be. So he stood up and excused himself, asking a house elf to bring their guest some refreshments.

"Give me ten minutes, Heiress Greengrass," Neville said, formally.

"Heir Longbottom," Daphne replied, "if you take less than half an hour to make yourself presentable, I will take it as a grave insult. Whatever you and Mister Potter got up to in Crawley last night, it has left you a mess." Her eyes narrowed at him, and she fought hard to keep the grin off of her face as she laid into him. "Would you risk the alliance between our houses so cavalierly?"

He grinned right back at her. "When you put it that way…"

"I do indeed," she confirmed, returning his grin with a smirk of her own. "Off with you!"

"Yes, Daphne," he quipped. Before she could respond, the house elf had popped him away.

She sighed, shaking her head. "Prat," she remarked to herself.

After a few minutes, she did ask for some tea and biscuits. The shade of the gazebo, coupled with the light breeze and the cool weather, meant that she was in the perfect place to wait for Neville. Add to that the fact that she did not want to wander the grounds alone, and her choice was clear.

Another elf brought her a book, and she spent a pleasant twenty minutes or so just relaxing.

The crunch of boots along the path up the hill drew her attention. When she saw the wizard approaching her, she had to roll her eyes.

Neville had taken her instructions literally. He was wearing a clean white shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and comfortable jeans. There were no robes, but he was carrying a backpack of some sort.

 _He does clean up nicely,_ Daphne mused. Whatever he had done, it seemed to make his skin that much lighter. Perhaps Neville had been dirtier than she had realized.

She rose to meet him at the main path. When he caught sight of her, he seemed to stiffen slightly, before giving her a smile and proceeding up the path. _What was that about?_ Daphne wondered.

It would not do to let him have the first word, and so she did not. "I'm glad to see you took my wishes seriously, Mister Longbottom," she said, amusement in her tone.

"You know me," a voice said from behind her. "Impressing witches is my…." the voice trailed off, as if the speaker had seen something shocking. And, perhaps they had.

Daphne turned toward the manor, and saw Neville Longbottom, wearing traditional robes with the Longbottom crest. Nothing fancy, nothing ornate or extravagant - just simple, everyday robes. They were the sort of clothing well suited for just about anything, really.

She could not help but note the shock on his face.

Turning back, she saw Neville Longbottom standing there, the exact same expression of shock on his features. His hair was the same brown, his face the same shape. Everything the same.

"Neville?" Daphne said, uncertainly. Was this an attack? Someone trying to impersonate Neville? No, that couldn't be, he had clearly passed the wardline. The front gate had admitted him, after all. How was that possible?

The boy in the white shirt spoke. His voice was the same as Neville's, down to the accent.

"No," he said, his demeanor calm but uncertainty in his eyes. "My name is Trevor."

The world seemed to grow still in that moment, as Daphne stared wide-eyed at this boy who claimed to be Neville's long-dead twin. _How?_

Neville's voice broke the silence only a moment later.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!"


	16. The Testimony

Neville Longbottom stood in front of his home, staring at the wizard before him. A wizard with his hair, only slightly longer. His eyes, gazing evenly back at him. His features, down to the tiniest detail. His clothes were muggle in style, but unremarkable besides that. His skin was slightly less tan than Neville's, and that was only due to the past week of training that kept Neville outdoors for most of the day.

It occured to Neville that someone _really_ wanted to make this person a plausible version of Trevor. He decided, in that moment, that he would have to have a talk with that person.

The possibility that this person might actually be Trevor did not occur to Neville at all.

Daphne Greengrass, sensing the tension between the two wizards, quickly stepped back and away from them. Neither pair of eyes followed her movement.

After another minute's silence, Daphne spoke. "Neville?" she asked, uncharacteristic worry in her voice.

That was when Neville snap-fired a stunner at Trevor.

Trevor stepped to the side, even as his wand cast a shield. The result was that the spell struck only a glancing blow against the shield, preserving its energy and keeping the shield up longer - which was fortunate, as it was then able to block Neville's next spell. The flare of the impact on his shield had barely faded before Trevor returned fire.

Neville dodged Trevor's stunner, returning one of his own, before rolling to his left to avoid another spell. Both were casting rapidly, though neither had begun to use combinations or spell chains.

Trevor was at a slight disadvantage, for he had not made it to the top of the hill when he stopped. The relentless attack from Neville now had him backing downhill, which gave him that many more chances to lose his footing. Every time he made a move to the side, Neville's spellfire penned him in, forcing him back to the path.

The spells Trevor was using seemed to be auror standard, and he had not used anything that Neville had not seen before. Neville did notice that his opponent's shields were efficient and quick, letting Trevor get the most protection for the least amount of effort. It was an active defense, not easily countered without backup.

Neville allowed himself a grin, before casting a spell directly to his right. Trevor spared it only a glance, and saw that the blue spell had shot straight into the trees that lined the path. Giving it no more thought, he fired off an _expelliarmus_.

The disarming charm seemed to arc slightly through the air, and Neville's dodge to the right actually caused him to step into its path. The cherry wand flew out of his hand and toward Trevor, who now wore a look of triumph. With his off hand, he caught the wand and held it up high. Only a second passed before his eyes grew wide and he spun to his left.

"Protego!" Trevor shouted, and a powerful shield sprang to life - just in time to intercept the blue hex that Neville had fired earlier.

With his attention focused on the side of the path, Trevor never saw the stunner that came from Neville's second wand. The boy fell down in a heap, a look of surprise still etched onto his features.

Catching his breath, Neville walked slowly down the hill, the crunch of his boots the only sound. Daphne followed close behind, her wand out and ready. When they arrived at the fallen wizard, Neville reached into his robe and produced some sort of metal rings.

"Neville?" Daphne asked again.

"Harry knew nothing about his parents until he was eleven," said Neville, as he rolled Trevor onto his stomach and pulled his arms behind his back. "Until last month, he never knew about his brother." The metal bracelets snapped onto Trevor's wrists, and Daphne could see now that they were chained together. A muggle version of shackles, apparently.

Neville picked up his wand, and the walnut wand of his opponent, as he continued speaking. "I resigned myself long ago to the fact that my parents would never leave the hospital. I accepted that." He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. "Harry is the Lord Potter, and he has the resources to deal with his parents. As for mine, well, I don't know what happened just yet, but I know we will handle it when we find out what needs handled. If my parents are well and healthy, I'll take it. But I will not accept being treated like a mushroom."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "A mushroom?"

Neville looked up at her, a small smile on his face as he remembered the explanation Colonel Ramsay had given when explaining the phrase. "It's an old muggle army joke. It's what happens when people keep you in the dark and feed you shit."

In spite of herself, Daphne chuckled. "I see," she said.

"So, we can deal with all of that." Neville continued, looking back at the stunned wizard before him. "What I will not accept is some piece of filth walking up to my house and claiming to be MY DEAD BROTHER!" His voice raised, to the point that he shouted his last words. Daphne briefly wondered if Neville might kick the downed wizard in the ribs, such was his anger.

"What are you going to do, then?" asked Daphne, suddenly worried at his reaction.

Neville stood up, and took another deep breath, visibly reining in his rage. "I'm going to take him somewhere and get some fucking answers." He removed a coin from his pocket and tucked it into the hands of his prisoner. "If anyone asks, Daphne, tell them that Harry needed something. I'll be back later."

Turning toward the bound wizard, Neville placed a hand on his wrists. Then, he spoke the activation phrase for the portkey.

"Gemini."

As the portkey took hold of him, he felt hands on his shoulders, before the world spun away.

oOoOoOoOo

The finishing touch to Hermione's new bedroom had been a large white board mounted on the wall next to her desk. Luna had helped her mount it the night before, and was unsurprised to find it filled with notes the following morning.

At the center of the board was a rough chart of House Longbottom.

Luna had said nothing that morning, and Hermione had not brought the topic up. After going out to brunch with the Grangers, the two witches planned to spend the afternoon relaxing. For Luna, that meant reading some muggle newspapers and magazines that Hermione had gotten for her.

Hermione, on the other hand, was staring at the Longbottom problem, as she had put it.

It was easy for Luna to sense Hermione's frustration with the facts, as they understood them. It was equally easy to figure out that they were missing some major piece of the puzzle.

"Why now?" asked Hermione, more to herself than anything.

Setting down her newspaper, Luna looked up at the board. "Not just now, Hermione. The exact day that Dumbledore tries to get Harry's father named Lord Potter. That evening, in fact."

Nodding, Hermione made a note of the date beside the relevant information. "So, someone could bring Frank and Alice back at will. So, were they at Saint Mungo's the whole time?"

Luna frowned. "What was it Neville said about his father?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. "His hands were strong, like he exercised. Which, of course, couldn't be the case if he was in the hospital."

"Right," agreed Luna. "Unless the source for the polyjuice wasn't in the hospital."

It was Hermione's turn to frown, as she considered that.

"If one family could go into hiding," Luna continued. "Why not two?"

With a sigh, Hermione sat down on the end of her bed. "Oh, Neville…"

Luna raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. Hermione noticed the motion, and rolled her eyes again.

"I just mean, you saw how much the issue with his parents has affected Harry," said Hermione. "But Harry didn't spend every holiday visiting his parents in hospital. He has never seen his parents, never held their hands. Neville has." Hermione looked back to Luna, and the ravenclaw saw that her host was close to tears. "Someone put Neville through fifteen years of lies. I want to know how someone could do that."

"Who benefits?" Luna said, quietly.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Who gains from the Longbottoms coming back now?"

Again, Luna said nothing.

Hermione wiped her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I wonder if we could visit Neville tonight?" she wondered.

Luna smirked at her friend. Before she could reply, a pop signaled the arrival of a house elf.

Both girls looked over to see Dobby. The elf was wearing dark green camouflage, with an army beret and black combat boots. In his hands was a piece of parchment, which he offered to Hermione. Once she took the parchment from his hands, Dobby offered a salute and popped away.

"Neville wants to know if your playroom is available. He wants to introduce us to a friend of his."

Luna and Hermione shared a look of surprise. Neville had captured an enemy, and wanted to question them. But who?

oOoOoOoOo

The Lovegood family home, known affectionately as the Rookery, had several smaller outbuildings in addition to the towering main house. One of these was an old storage shed where Luna's mother would keep old ward stones, cauldrons, and other miscellaneous items.

Underneath that shed was a large basement area. It had been designed as a potions lab, and had its own ventilation and storage spaces for that purpose. Now, however, Luna had converted it into a small safehouse. In addition to beds and food, there was also a cell that could serve as a temporary prison for captured death eaters.

It worked quite well for interrogations, by design - which was one of several reasons why Neville picked it for Trevor's questioning.

Luna and Hermione had the room ready when the portkey arrived. Just as the Weasleys had been, the girls were surprised when they saw Ron and Neville, along with an unconscious wizard and a tall blonde slytherin.

The group had first gone to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes to gather Ron and Ginny, who had been there having lunch with Fred and George. Neville had not wanted to linger at Longbottom Hall with a stunned Trevor, not when he didn't know what involvement - if any - his parents had in everything that had happened. He had to figure out what they knew. So, with Ron in tow, they made their way here. Ginny had gone to Potter Manor, and would join them separately.

Hopefully, Trevor would provide the answers they needed.

"Now, where are we?" Daphne asked.

Neville and Luna made eye contact, and he nodded to her. Daphne would be giving an oath of secrecy before they left, or she would be obliviated. Luna found herself wondering if they had told Daphne that yet.

"This is an old shed, Heiress Greengrass," Luna said, smiling at her unexpected guest. "Where it is isn't important, as long as we are all friends."

Daphne looked at the ravenclaw, not sure how much was serious and how much was misdirection. "The Greengrasses have always been friends with the Longbottoms, Miss Lovegood," Daphne answered carefully.

"Ah, but the Longbottoms aren't here." Luna replied, still smiling. Her eyes went to the stunned wizard on the floor, and she frowned as she got a good look at his face. "Neville, I must say, this is weird even for me."

Neville couldn't help but smile at her comment. "You're not wrong."

"He claims to be Trevor," said Daphne.

Luna looked up at Neville. "Is he?"

"That's what I plan to find out," Neville said, as he lifted the wizard into a waiting chair. With a flick of his wand, ropes appeared and bound the prisoner to the chair.

Once Trevor was secured, Neville leaned against the wall and looked him over. Daphne watched him, frowning. Hermione walked over and spoke to him quietly. When they hugged, Daphne realized how much this must be affecting him. He claimed to have been up since yesterday, had been reunited with people who claimed to be his parents, and fought a duel against someone purporting to be his dead brother.

And still, he pressed on.

Neville gave Luna a nod, and she set a dictaquill in motion. Neville drew his wand and looked around the room. When he got nods in return, he spoke.

"Interrogation of the wizard claiming to be Trevor Longbottom. Neville Longbottom as lead interrogator." His tone was cold and businesslike, though there remained an undercurrent of anger that was obvious to everyone in the room.

"Hermione Granger as interrogator."

Neville raised his wand. " _Rennervate."_

Trevor snapped awake, looking around as if in a panic. When he realized he was tied to a chair, he seemed to grow even more anxious, before freezing when his eyes met Neville's.

Hermione spoke first, as they had agreed beforehand. "What is your full name, for the record?"

Trevor shot her a look, before turning back to Neville. "I grew up as Trevor Barclay."

"Where did you grow up?" she asked.

"Wales," he answered.

"Why did you come to Longbottom Hall this morning?"

Trevor looked uneasy. "I was visiting with friends this weekend, not far from that house. This morning, I received a vulture patronus telling me that my grandmother needed me home to meet my parents." He shrugged. "So I used a point me spell and got on a broom. It took me a few hours to find the place, but when I got there the wards accepted me." He looked at Neville, anger flashing in his eyes. "And then I got attacked by someone who looks like me."

Neville almost replied to that, but Hermione's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Do you know your birth name?" Hermione asked.

Trevor rolled his eyes. "Never have, no. If a Longbottom calls me her grandson, though, I can take a fucking guess, now can't I?"

Hermione ignored the remark. "Do you attend a magical school?"

Trevor shook his head. "Homeschooled. My parents said that I needed to stay hidden."

"Why is that?"

"Beats me. They never told me that."

"I see," she replied. "Do you have any siblings?"

"I have a friend who is as close as a brother to me, but that's it." Trevor's eyes again focused on Neville as he spoke.

"Right," said Neville. A pop from the other room startled Trevor, who began looking around.

As the footsteps approached, Trevor blinked. "What now?" he asked.

Neville grinned at him, the light in the room making the grin look sinister. Trevor shied back a bit in his chair, despite the ropes holding him in place. Behind him, Ginny Weasley entered the room.

"That would be the veritaserum." Neville said, as Ginny handed him a small vial.

"Oh," Trevor replied, seeming to deflate. He closed his eyes with a sigh. "Well, shit."

Everyone's eyebrows raised at that comment.

oOoOoOoOo

Ginny and Ron stood at the back of the room, watching Neville as he asked question after question. It seemed that every answer Trevor gave challenged what they thought they knew about… well, very nearly everything, at this point.

Neville had been close to losing his temper at Longbottom Hall, once the duel had ended, and he regretted that. He especially regretted the look on Daphne's face when the rage came out in his voice, just before they portkeyed away. Now, though, the Longbottom Heir was all business - his voice was cold steel, as emotionless as that of his brother's veritaserum-sodden answers.

The frustration began almost at once, for Neville and Hermione realized that they had no idea what questions to ask to start the session. It is standard practice to ask known questions, to verify that the drug had taken effect, but here they knew absolutely nothing with certainty. It was Luna who cut through the confusion, as usual.

Neville agreed with her suggestion, and began the questioning.

 **Neville:** What is your full name?

 **Trevor:** Trevor Lewis Longbottom, Heir Secondary to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom.

 **Neville:** When and where were you born?

 **Trevor:** July 30, 1980, Longbottom Hall.

 **Neville:** Who are your parents?

 **Trevor:** Frank and Alice Longbottom.

 **Neville:** Why did you come to Longbottom Hall today?

 **Trevor:** I got a patronus from Augusta Longbottom telling me to come home. I came as soon as I could.

 **Neville:** Did you expect a patronus from Augusta Longbottom?

 **Trevor:** No.

 **Neville:** What did the patronus say?

 **Trevor:** My grandson needs to return to Longbottom Hall immediately to welcome his parents home.

 **Neville:** Have you seen or spoken with Augusta Longbottom since the attack in 1981?

 **Trevor:** No.

 **Neville:** Before that patronus, what was your plan?

 **Trevor:** My story was that I had been found and raised outside the wizarding world, but that I wondered who I had been. I was to make contact with you in Diagon Alley, after news of Mom and Dad's return broke. You would bring me to our parents, and we would be reunited as a family.

 **Neville:** Why?

 **Trevor:** So that we can stand against the Dark Lord.

 **Neville:** No, I mean why contact me?

 **Trevor:** I don't know.

 **Neville:** You planned for me to bring you to our parents… Trevor, when did you last see Frank and Alice Longbottom?

 **Trevor:** July 5th, 1996.

 **Neville:** Are you fucking kidding me?

 **Trevor:** No.

 **Neville:** I WASN'T ASKING YOU!

 **Trevor:** ...

 **Neville:** Were Frank and Alice Longbottom ever long-term patients at Saint Mungo's?

 **Trevor:** No.

 **Neville:** And you lived with them somewhere?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** For how long?

 **Trevor:** Fourteen years, eight months.

 **Neville:** Fourteen… Are you telling me that my parents lived in hiding with my twin brother since the day of the attack on Longbottom Hall?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** The attack where Gran barely escaped with me, and thought she had left you to die?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** The attack where your body was found?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** How do you explain the body?

 **Trevor:** I don't know.

 **Neville:** Right, of course. I suppose the aurors who responded were in on it, and exaggerated the injuries on Frank and Allice.

 **Trevor:** …

 **Neville:** Is that a fair statement?

 **Trevor:** I don't know.

 **Neville:** Fine. Where did you live with your parents?

 **Trevor:** Hunllef Deffro Cadw.

 **Neville:** Excuse me?

 **Trevor:** Hunllef Deffro Cadw.

 **Luna:** That's a Welsh name. It means Castle of Nightmares or something like that.

 **Neville:** Oh for fuck's sake. The oath. Frank swore an oath that he had lived in a Keep of Waking Nightmares for almost fifteen years. Well, he did, didn't he? His house was called that, and he was there fourteen years and eight months.

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** And where is Hunllef whatever?

 **Trevor:** I can't say.

 **Neville:** I'm sorry?

 **Trevor:** I can't say.

 **Hermione:** Trevor, is the location of your home under the fidelius?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** Fine. Do you know why you went into hiding?

 **Trevor:** Yes.

 **Neville:** ...

 **Hermione:** Neville…

 **Neville:** He's drugged, Hermione. One hex won't hurt him.

 **Hermione:** Put your wand away, Longbottom.

 **Neville:** ...

 **Hermione:** Why did you go into hiding?

 **Trevor:** To stand against the Dark Lord.

 **Neville:** It's just like the Potters, isn't it? Merlin.

 **Hermione:** I don't…

 **Trevor:** Yes.

oOoOoOoOo

All eyes snapped to the bound Longbottom brother, whose simple one word answer had changed everything. Hermione's speculation died in her throat, as the import of the word came to her.

Neville had just been muttering to himself, comparing his parents' betrayal with that of the Potters. His mind was already turning to next steps - how the hell does he deal with this? How does he look Frank and Alice in the eye now that he knows?

Veritaserum is powerful, which is why it is so restricted. Any question in the subject's hearing, and they are compelled to respond.

 _"It's just like the Potters, isn't it?"_

 _"Yes."_

Seven pairs of eyes looked on in shock. Neville and Hermione stood in front of the bound teenager, while Luna sat next to a small table, watching the enchanted quill write out the transcript. Ron and Ginny stood at the back of the room, quietly discussing what they had heard.

Daphne Greengrass, who had tagged along on Neville's portkey, was looking from Trevor to Neville, working out the impact that this could have on her friend. The dynamic between these five was clear, now that she had a chance to observe them outside of Hogwarts. They had clearly worked as a group for far longer than any secret training class Umbridge claimed to have discovered. They seemed more like a squad of aurors, rather than a group of teens.

A deep sigh drew her attention to the doorway, where she saw Harry Potter watching the questioning. She had not heard him approach, and from the reactions in the room, she knew that no one else had noticed him either. His face held none of the anger she expected, and it took her a moment to realize when she had seen that face before.

It matched the expression Neville had as he took his first look at his brother - just before he started casting.

It was Harry's voice, his tired sounding voice, weary and disappointed all at once, that broke the silence in the room.

"Tell me," said Harry. "When did you last see Lily Potter?"

Trevor's response was immediate. "June 18th, 1996."

Another bombshell. Daphne Greengrass was the only one who didn't know the significance of the date, and said so.

"It was the day of the battle at the Ministry," Ginny said.

"The Potters and the Longbottoms, off in hiding, waiting to be summoned," Harry said, quietly. He looked up at Neville.

"Dumbledore," said the Longbottom Heir.

"Dumbledore," agreed the Lord Potter.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ Special thanks to Leyrann and Grimjaw for the Beta work on this chapter and the next. **

**This chapter got away from me a bit, and thus has been split in two - improving both halves, I believe. It's been quite a busy two days for our team, as it turns out.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	17. The Intent

When Lord Greengrass excused himself to send an owl to his son, advising him of the day's events and letting him know that he and Daphne were staying at Longbottom Hall for dinner, Frank took the opportunity to excuse himself as well. His mother and Alice were deep in a conversation about the Wizengamot, and Frank had no patience for politics today.

Frank knew that there would be pressure to take up his seat, but he saw no urgency. His mother had held the Regency since before he had left Hogwarts, and had quickly earned the respect of her peers. It was a rare proposal that passed through the Wizengamot with Madam Longbottom's active opposition. Hers was a voice to which others listened. Were he to take up the seat, he would be starting out fresh, with only his allies and the Headmaster to back him.

Dumbledore had hinted that such a move might be necessary, which meant sooner rather than later. So he would take the time and catch up with recent events, and then stand next to James in the big chamber, as House Longbottom and House Potter had done for centuries.

 _Though it'll be Harry I'll have to stand next to,_ Frank thought as he walked toward his study. _And isn't that the strangest thing to come out of all this?_

He had not spoken to the Headmaster since the decision to 'wake up'. The past week had been spent at Saint Mungo's, playing the role of patients undergoing rehabilitation. Limited visits with Augusta - enough to reassure her that he and Alice were properly awake - were about the only contact they had had with outsiders.

It would be hard to explain an hours-long political briefing from the former Chief Warlock.

He stood next to the old desk in his study, running his hand over the wood. He remembered playing under this desk as his father worked on 'Merlin-be-damned parchmentwork'. Did Augusta use this space to educate Neville? He didn't know.

In fact, there was little he knew about Neville's childhood, despite the earlier conversation. An hour over brunch, in the presence of guests, was not the best way to get an in-depth feel for fifteen years of your son's life. The only think Frank could say with certainty was that Neville's upbringing would have been vastly different from Trevor's.

Neville at least had Harry Potter as a best friend. It was a remarkable parallel to Trevor's long friendship with Jamie Potter, and Frank was glad to know that Neville wasn't going to face this alone.

His hand ran across the bookshelf as he took in the photographs. All of them were from before the attack, and showed a much younger Alice at his side, each holding one of the twins. The boys seemed to unconsciously match each other, even when they didn't need to. One photo of them sitting in matching high chairs depicted nearly identical grimaces as their parents fed them. The babies in the picture shared a glance, before spitting up the food - again, almost in unison.

The distance had always weighed on Trevor, who knew that Neville was out there somewhere. How hard would it have been for Neville, who didn't have that reassurance? With the boys together again, Frank knew that their family would be fine.

Turning, Frank saw the ornate gold display above the fireplace. Mounted in a place of honor was his wand. Augusta had apologized at first, saying that she had wanted Neville to carry it as a reminder of him, but that the wand did nothing for the boy.

Smiling, Frank triggered his wrist holster, and his wand - his true wand - came to his hand. Lifting the piece of wood that had been found with 'his' body after the attack, he considered it. He did not know how Dumbledore had faked his and Alice's presence at Saint Mungo's for all these years, except that polyjuice had been involved. What he did know is that they never would have believed that the victim was actually Frank Longbottom if his wand had not been present.

So, he had left them a wand. That O in Transfiguration had come in handy.

His eyes went, once again, to a picture of the family. Frank and Alice, Neville and Trevor, Augusta, her brother Algie. All of them smiling on a summer's day - the twins' first birthday, if his memory served.

Frank's smile faded, and his thoughts went back to the same worry he had felt for close to a year now, ever since Voldemort returned.

 _Is this all worth it? Is it worth the pain that Neville and Augusta will feel when they learn the truth?_

With a grimace, Frank tossed the false wand into the fireplace, and watched as the flames consumed it.

"Time heals all wounds," he said quietly to himself, hoping that it was true. Turning, he walked out of his study.

oOoOoOoOo

Trevor felt the moment when the veritaserum wore off. While the numb feeling had passed, he still found himself a little lightheaded, likely from the duel. _The duel where Neville kicked my arse,_ he groused to himself.

Looking around, he saw only the blonde girl from earlier. Everyone else had left the room, presumably to discuss his fate. This girl, however, was sitting in a chair against the wall, watching him, her expression thoughtful. There were only two families close enough to the Longbottoms to be invited to something like this morning's reunion, and she was definitely not a Potter, which meant…

"I apologize for not properly introducing myself earlier, Miss Greengrass." He said, trying to shrug. He nodded toward the ropes binding him to the chair. "I seem to have miscalculated, somewhat."

She smiled a little at that, one eyebrow raised. "Somewhat?"

He gave an exaggerated sigh. "Maybe a little."

Daphne shook her head in amusement, for that was clearly a massive understatement.

After a few minutes, Daphne spoke. She had considered the wizard before her, and could not decide what to think. Not being one to leave a question unanswered, she decided to take advantage of her captive audience, and satisfy her curiosity.

"When Neville went to Hogwarts, he brought a toad." Daphne began. "He named it Trevor, as a way to remember you."

Trevor's face fell. "Did he?"

She nodded. "Everyone always talks about the day the Potters died, and how Harry defeated the Dark Lord that night and became the boy-who-lived."

"Jamie," Trevor said, automatically.

She blinked at him. "I'm sorry?"

"Jamie Potter is the boy-who-lived. He is the one who has to defeat Voldemort."

"Is he now?" Daphne asked, her eyes narrowing. _That explains Dumbledore's involvement, it would seem._

Trevor nodded. "He is."

Daphne let that sit for a moment, before shrugging. "Well, Neville didn't know that. All he knew was that his parents were crippled and his brother was killed a few days into November. So, every year he would go and plant flowers for all three of you, out by the greenhouses." Her eyes met Trevor's. "He mourned you, Trevor."

Trevor closed his eyes. "I know."

"And now you come back," she said. "Why?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes still closed as if in thought. Then he looked at her, sadness on his face. "If you were told, by a wizard you knew and respected, that by going into hiding, your family could help stop an unimaginable evil, would you do it?" He continued before she could reply. "Even if it meant leaving one of your twin sons behind, letting your family and friends think you the victim of a horrifying injury, faking the death of your other son? If it meant saving lives, perhaps hundreds or thousands of them, would you do it?"

Daphne's eyes grew wide. "To abandon my son, to leave him to mourn for fifteen years?"

"If necessary."

"Was it necessary, Trevor?"

Trevor kept his gaze on her, saying nothing.

She frowned. "If all of the information pointed toward this option, and there was no other way, then perhaps I would make that choice." She sighed, shaking her head. "But you'd better believe I would need more than just the say-so of the Headmaster before I split my family like that."

"Would you?" Trevor said, tilting his head as he looked at her.

"I'm a Slytherin, Mister Longbottom," she said, in a formal tone. "It means that I keep my options open. So yes, if this were really the best plan we had, I'd consider it." She stood, smoothing out her robes as she spoke. "But if you think that I'd let things get to that point, you know nothing about House Greengrass or Slytherin."

Trevor smiled, in spite of himself. "On that, at least, we can agree." His smile broadened when he saw the corners of her mouth twitch up as well.

oOoOoOoOo

Meanwhile, the team was in the next room, discussing their options.

Ron almost seemed angrier about what had happened than Neville, when it came to it.

"Harry's parents abandoned him, left him to the muggles, I get that. But he didn't know anything about that until years later." he nodded at Neville, who was almost pacing the length of the room. "Neville's parents, on the other hand, made it so that he thought they were alive but… I don't know, gone. They made him think that his twin was dead."

Ginny's gasp told them exactly when she figured out where Ron was going. Luna was not far behind. It made sense, as both had known Fred and George longer than the others.

Off Ginny's reaction, Ron nodded grimly. "If Fred died and left George behind, George would be a wreck. Fred would be, too, if it happened the other way."

"What about Jamie?" asked Harry.

"You never knew about Jamie, Harry." Neville responded, drawing the eyes of the others to him. "It's like an itch, you know? Or better, it's like someone who has their leg cut off, and even years later they would swear up and down that the missing leg still hurts." He looked at Harry. "Magical twins share a bond. You never knew to look for yours, and so you never missed it."

"I wouldn't say that," replied Harry. "Now that I know about it, I can tell there was always something… _wrong_ , you know? Just a little bit _off_. It might have been the twin bond."

"Might have been," agreed Neville.

"Right, but that's my point, mate," continued Ron. "Neville's parents _knew_ that their twins were magical. They knew that there would be a bond there. And they separated you anyway." He shook his head. "And that's not even getting into the fact that you visited some fake version of your parents at hospital during holidays. Who would do that to a kid?"

"Who, indeed," remarked Luna. She held up the transcript of Trevor's interrogation. "There's at least one bright spot, Neville."

"What's that?" he asked.

She grinned at him, holding up the parchment. "You won't have to kill your parents over this. Once Augusta finds out, she'll probably do it for you."

Neville's eyes grew wide as the mental image of Augusta Longbottom duelling his parents came to him. " _Merlin,_ " he whispered. "You might be right."

Harry looked over at him. "Want to find out?"

Neville looked surprised. "What, now?"

That got a huff from Hermione. "We're not set up for prisoners, Neville. Not yet, anyway."

"And he is your brother," said Luna, still smiling. "Did you hear some of his answers? The Headmaster fed him some of the same lines as Jamie."

"True," said Neville. "On the other hand, he did plan to hide his true history behind a made up foster family."

"Also true," Luna conceded.

"It's your operation, Neville," said Harry, in the voice of command they had come to know so well over the past months. "How do you want to do this?"

oOoOoOoOo

Augusta Longbottom felt the wards as eight people crossed onto the Longbottom estate. She had noticed someone entering the front gate several hours ago, but when they had left with Neville and Daphne, she had assumed it was Harry Potter who had come to take the pair somewhere. With a portkey being used, that narrowed their destinations down to just Potter Manor, since the Greengrasses did not allow portkeys onto their land. Of all the places they could go, Potter Manor was one of the safest, and so she had not worried.

It had not even crossed her mind to mention it to her son, so used was she to being the voice of House Longbottom.

She had not yet handed the wards over to her son. It wasn't something one did in front of guests, no matter how close they may be. Nor had she seen any urgency. Only herself, Neville, Algernon, and Trevor Greengrass were allowed through the wards at will, and each could bring guests if necessary. Frank and Alice and little Trevor remained in the ward book as well, for Augusta had been loathe to remove them after the attack. This past winter had seen Harry Potter added, once he began seeking her counsel on House matters.

All of that is to say that one arrival did not even merit discussion, such was her trust in her grandson. Eight, however - that was unusual.

"Frank," she said, and her son looked over. "Are we expecting more guests?"

Frank stood from the table, his wand already in his hand. "Not that I know of," he said warily.

As the manor was not under attack, only the perimeter wards were active - which meant that Augusta had no warning when the front doors banged open for the second time that day. Alice and Frank did not look toward the entrance hall, however, but to each other. Lord Greengrass, his cane in hand, had seen the look and frowned at it.

A booming voice came from the entrance hall, ending all speculation as to the identity of their visitors.

"LORD LONGBOTTOM!"

The four quickly made their way to the entrance hall, Augusta following close on the heels of her son and daughter-in-law. Lord Greengrass brought up the rear, slowed by age.

When Frank and Alice saw who their visitors actually were, they froze. There, in the entrance hall, just inside the doorway, was their son Neville - standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry Potter and a red-haired wizard who could only be one of Arthur Weasley's boys. Three witches flanked them, and it did not escape Frank's notice that the three were taking overwatch positions. Between them, they could cover any corner of the room with their wands, if the need arose.

All six had their wands out and ready. Of the other two, Daphne Greengrass had stepped quickly to the side, not wishing to place herself in any crossfire.

The eighth person, kneeling in the entrance hall, hands bound behind him, was his son Trevor.

Neville stepped forward, coming alongside his brother. "I would have the truth of this from you, Lord Longbottom." He had deliberately chosen the words that signaled a parley, hoping that the formalities of a blood feud might hammer home exactly how enraged he was. It was a message that was not lost on his parents, or on Lord Greengrass, who stood behind them and watched everything.

On any other day, Augusta Longbottom would have scolded Neville for his disrespect. Now, she had eyes only for the wizard kneeling on the floor. Her mind raced with the possibility that this was who it appeared to be, despite all logic or reason. _It couldn't be, could it?_

"Neville," Frank began, still shocked at the entourage that had accompanied his son - no, his _sons_. Straightening, he squared his shoulders. "Heir Longbottom, I see you have met your brother."

"Yes, he wandered up to Daphne while I changed out of my battle robes," Neville said, a hard edge to his voice. "He says that he has lived with you for close to fifteen years, hidden away." He shifted on his feet, a move that Frank recognized as an auror's stance. That particular movement, setting his feet angled just so, is what one does right before spells begin flying.

"We would have seen him if he were at Saint Mungo's," said Augusta, confused.

Harry looked at Augusta, sadness in his eyes. "Frank and Alice hid out with my parents and my brother, Madam Longbottom. Trevor here is apparently best friends with my brother Jamie."

"But, Frank…" Her eyes turned to her son, who stood in front of her. Frank did not turn to meet her gaze, keeping his sights on the wands in front of him instead.

"It was all fake, Gran," said Neville. "Every visit, every treatment. All those donations, all that research, everything."

"Fake?" Augusta's voice was barely a whisper, by this point.

Lord Greengrass stepped forward, placing an arm on Augusta, steadying her. He looked over at his granddaughter. "What is your role in this, Daphne?"

For the first time since Neville had known her, Daphne seemed unsure what to say. She looked from him to Trevor, and then to her grandfather.

"My Lord, it is as they say it," she said, formally. "Trevor approached us from the front gate, and Neville engaged him in a brief duel, thinking him some sort of impostor. Once stunned, we took him to Luna Lovegood, where Neville and Hermione Granger questioned him. The truth of the matter was confirmed in my presence by way of veritaserum."

"You gave my son veritaserum?" There was fear and outrage in Alice's voice, and it was unclear how much of it was simply a mother's wish to protect her son, rather than fear at what might have been revealed.

Neville eyed his mother, shaking his head sadly. "Would you have revealed the truth to me without this? Ever?" He inclined his head toward his brother, who was still looking down at the floor. "He said that he wasn't even supposed to come here today, but he got Gran's patronus. She summoned her grandson home, and home he came." He sighed. "Intent is everything, isn't it?"

"But, I didn't…" It was a strange thing, to see Augusta Longbottom so out of sorts. Harry knew it would not last long.

"I know, Gran," Neville said. "We know everything. You were kept in the dark just as much as Harry and I were." He turned back to his father, freshly angry at his grandmother's reaction. "Do you have an explanation, Lord Longbottom?"

The contrast between his address of his father, and Daphne's acknowledgement of her grandfather as _my lord_ was striking, and a signal that no one failed to hear.

Frank glared at Neville, completely unprepared to account for his actions. So much of the rationale behind their choice to go into hiding relied on secrets that were not his to reveal. The prophecy, the secret of the horcruxes, all of it had been hidden for a reason.

Before he could respond, Lord Greengrass spoke. "I believe House Greengrass would like to hear that explanation as well, Heir Longbottom," he said. The cold tone of his voice seemed to drop the temperature in the room by several degrees.

"Trevor," Frank began again, only to be interrupted by his guest.

"Frank, we would have helped you if you had asked us, you know that." Lord Greengrass said. He stabbed a finger at the door to the dining room, anger crossing his features. "Not half a bloody hour ago you and I talked about betrothal contracts for Daphne and your son. Which one? You seem to have an extra."

Neville did not look over at Daphne at that news, nor did he see Trevor's brief glance in her direction.

Harry was stunned. "You would sign a contract like that without disclosing this?"

"We would have explained everything, in time," said Frank. It was a weak excuse, and he knew it was even as he said it. But until he could consult with the Headmaster, there was little he could do.

Neville was having none of it. "Here's the problem, sir. Even if you stand there and swear an oath that your actions toward myself and Madam Longbottom were justified and honourable, I can't accept that. You stood there this morning and swore an oath like that, but your son revealed that oath to be a lie. I asked you if you were truly my father, who had spent a decade and a half convalescing, and you instead gave me an oath full of half truths and trickery. Keep of Waking Nightmares, indeed, who the HELL do you think you are?"

"I'm your father," Frank said, weakly. The vitriol coming from Neville had floored him, and he could tell that Alice was as unprepared for this conversation as he was.

"So it would seem," said Neville.

Frank felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to his right. He did not see Augusta's hand until it had already struck him in the face with a resounding slap. When he looked down at his mother, he saw the woman more furious than he had ever seen her before.

She glared at him, rage in every movement, and seemed on the edge of speaking. Then she shook her head in disappointment. Without a word, she turned and made her way toward Neville. She placed a hand on his shoulder, and nodded to him, before walking out of Longbottom Hall.

By wordless agreement, Daphne fell into step beside her grandfather, who was following Augusta to the outdoors. As she passed, she nodded an acknowledgement to Harry and Neville. Then, they too were gone.

Frank and Alice watched as the three witches flanking them began to move toward the door. They moved in unison, as if it were a planned maneuver - which, they would learn later, it was.

Neville knelt behind Trevor, and removed the handcuffs. Trevor brought his hands to his front, rubbing his wrists. When he looked up, Neville and Harry, joined by Ron, were near the door.

At the threshold, Neville turned back to the entrance hall of his childhood home. He ignored Frank and Alice, instead making eye contact with his brother.

"Welcome home, Trevor."

And with that, Neville was gone, leaving Frank and Alice standing in the hall, staring at the open door, while their other son knelt on the floor and wondered how everything had gone so completely _wrong_.

* * *

 ** _A/N_ : As I said previously, this chapter was at one point the second half of the last one. I believe the split helped both chapters, as the whole thing together is just a monster. Thanks again to Leyrann and Grimjaw for the assistance on Beta. **

**So, let's review. The Potters and the Longbottoms both planned to go into hiding. After each family was attacked, one of their twin sons was left behind. They accepted this state of affairs, spending the intervening fifteen years training Trevor and Jamie, so that Jamie (whom they were told is the true boy-who-lived) can eventually end Voldemort, if and when.**

 **The theme, from the very beginning, has been that Dumbledore's plan was unnecessarily complex and fatally misguided, and the tale of the Longbottoms proves the point. It's worse here, though - James and Lily had a good idea of what was happening before they reappeared, and Jamie had been briefed in detail before his appearance. Poor Frank and Alice have spent a week pretending to rehab, and so haven't been caught up on everything that has happened so far. One errant patronus, and their piece of the plan crumbled, thanks to an overeager Trevor. As Harry said earlier, "Welp."**

 **The little counter on FFN just ticked past 200,000 views on this story, which - when coupled to the 2,110 followers and 1,415 favorites that this story has received - just floors me. Thank you all for the response this story has gotten.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	18. The Courtship

The following Saturday, guests began arriving at Bones Manor for the 16th Birthday Party of Susan Bones. It was early afternoon, and the large sunroom at the back of the residence was filled with snacks, courtesy the Bones elves. The back patio had seating for all who wanted to relax and enjoy the day, and already a dozen of Susan and Harry's classmates were there.

No one had yet noticed the absence of Susan Bones herself - nor of Harry Potter.

The group was strangely quiet, for a group of teenagers. All eyes were on the chess match playing itself out between two soon-to-be sixth years, and the tension was growing rapidly.

Hannah Abbott leaned forward in her chair, and intense look on her features. Without taking her eyes from the board, she reached a delicate hand out and moved her knight.

Ron Weasley's brow furrowed. Whatever move he had expected from the Hufflepuff, that hadn't been it. They were playing with an old muggle chess set gifted to Amelia by her Uncle Darren, a squib who taught her the game. It was not the first time that Ron had played with a muggle set, but now he found that the stillness of the board was putting him off of his game.

They were not playing with a clock - it had started as a friendly game between houses. Hannah was known as one of the better players in Hufflepuff, while Ron had a reputation as the best player in Gryffindor. Seeing the board set up, Hannah couldn't help but ask for a game. Ron, eager to face an opponent he had never played, couldn't say no.

Now, an hour later, the others who had filtered out onto the patio sat and watched in near silence.

Michael Corner leaned over to his girlfriend, Lisa Turpin, and whispered. "I thought Susan said there wouldn't be any dueling?"

Lisa chuckled. "Who needs it? This is much more intense."

Justin Finch-Fletchley stood up, careful not to disturb the players. "Anyone want anything?" he asked, quietly. The others present shook their heads.

"Not hungry, mate," said Ron absently, his eyes fixed on the board.

Justin, who had already began to walk to the sunroom, froze. Turning, he made eye contact with Ginny, whose eyes were as wide as his own.

Ron Weasley had just refused food. Now they knew that he was playing for keeps.

oOoOoOoOo

When Harry stepped out of the Floo, he saw Susan Bones looking at him with wide eyes. She was greeting her guests, as tradition required, but didn't seem to know what to say to him at that moment. Her uncertainty brought him up short.

"Everything okay, Susan?" Harry asked.

Susan shook her head slightly, before closing her eyes as if getting herself under control. Before Harry knew what was happening, Susan had summoned a Bones elf and directed her to continue to greet guests. The Bones heiress then grabbed Harry by the wrist and dragged him into a nearby sitting room.

Once there, after securing the door and casting a privacy charm, Susan began pacing. Harry wanted to reach out and comfort her, but knew that that was the wrong move just now. Whatever had her upset had been triggered by his arrival. So, he waited.

After a few moments, Susan took a deep breath and gathered her courage. Then she turned to Harry.

"We can't date, Harry."

Harry leaned against the back of a couch, staring at the Hufflepuff. "I'm sorry?"

Susan resumed her circuit of the room, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. "When you turn sixteen in the wizarding world, Harry, you start to enact betrothal contracts. Sometimes you know about them before, because your parents or grandparents negotiated them. Sometimes you know the person you're supposed to marry. But whatever happens, most contracts become active on the older partner's sixteenth birthday."

"Yes," said Harry, simply.

She did not look over to see the look on his face, fearing what she might find there.

"Mom and Dad must have had a contract for me before they died," she continued, her voice growing more quiet. "They signed me away to someone I don't even know, and I can't do anything about it."

"Have you read the contract?" Harry asked, his voice deceptively calm.

"I'm going to make Auntie take me to Gringott's tomorrow."

"I see," he replied.

Susan looked at him, now. "You're not mad." Tilting her head, she examined him closely, stepping forward as she did so. "You should be mad."

"Maybe," Harry allowed. "As it happens, I also have a betrothal on the books."

Susan's face fell. "You what?"

Harry nodded. "Fortunately, as Lord Potter, I could choose which provisions to accept and which to disregard." He smiled at her, the same smile he had given her in Hogsmeade so long ago, the same smile that first won her heart. "If, as is likely, she decides I'm not worth the trouble, she need only say the word, and the contract dissolves. No muss, no fuss."

Susan could not keep the hurt out of her voice. "So, you knew about a contract but talked about dating me anyway?" She shook her head, more in disappointment than anything else. "What would your betrothed think about that?"

Harry stepped closer. His hands remained at his sides, and he fought against the urge to take her hand, to hug her, to wipe away her hurt. "I'm hoping she still gives me a chance, even though I never told her about the contract." Harry's eyes focused on hers. "If she'll have me, that is."

Susan scoffed. "And if she doesn't?"

Another step. "Then, she walks away and I dissolve the contract."

"You think she'd enjoy being your second choice?"

Harry smiled at her, despite the tension in the air. "I'm hoping she understands that she's my only choice."

Susan's eyes grew wide at that. "Only choice… Harry, who is she?"

Another step, and he was close enough to take her hands in his own. Susan did not resist, keeping her wet eyes on his.

"There's a Hufflepuff in our year. Beautiful smile, gorgeous eyes, and one of the kindest souls I've ever known." His smile brightened as she realized what he meant. Then she was hugging him, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Prat," she grumbled against his chest. "You scared me."

"I know, Sue, I'm sorry." He carefully led her over to a chair, where she seated herself on his lap.

"Why didn't you say anything, then?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

"I couldn't, it's part of the contract. One betrothed cannot open discussions with the other on contract matters." He shrugged. "It's standard language, so that the parents are the ones deciding how things work under the contract. They have to be the ones negotiating."

"But… you're Lord Potter."

He nodded. "Which means I knew from the start." He gave her forehead a kiss. "But I didn't want to force you into anything. Never that. If you and I went nowhere, I'd quietly dissolve the contract and that would be that."

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his chest. "No muss, no fuss."

"Exactly."

"What an odd expression," she mused.

That got a laugh. "Blame the Colonel. It's one of his."

Susan smiled at that. "I should have known." Then she looked thoughtful. "Is this what Auntie was mad about earlier?"

Harry winced. "A bit. She accepted my explanation, but didn't like that I had held out on her. She didn't know there was a contract at all, seeing as her brother negotiated it with James."

"Ah," repled Susan.

After a comfortable few minutes, Harry sighed. "We should probably get you to your party, Miss Bones."

Susan returned the sigh with one of her own. "In a minute."

Harry grinned and gave her forehead another kiss. "As you wish."

oOoOoOoOo

When Harry and Susan arrived in the entrance hall, holding hands, they found Neville Longbottom brushing the dust off of himself. Straightening, Neville looked up and saw them, and then broke out in a wide grin.

"About time you 'fessed up, Lord Potter if you please," he said with a laugh. Both Harry and Susan rolled their eyes at their friend, which only made him laugh harder.

The three chatted for a few minutes, making every effort to play the part of carefree teenagers. That was how Amelia found them when she came down the stairs from her office.

Harry saw her first. "Good afternoon, Madam Bones," he said in greeting. Neville followed suit.

Amelia smiled at the boys. "Today, at least, you can call me Amelia. This is supposed to be an informal event, is it not?"

A shrug. "That is true enough," Harry conceded. "I'd call you Madam Amelia, but then I'd sound like a house elf!"

Susan and her aunt both chuckled at that. "Better than nothing, Lord Harry Sirs," Amelia retorted, doing her best imitation of Ursula, one of the Bones elves.

The elf in question, still at her place near the floo, gave her mistress an annoyed look. "Ursula does not sound like that, Mistress Amelia," she said sternly. That, of course, set the four laughing.

Harry and Susan soon made their way to the backyard, to visit with their friends. Neville stayed back, and asked Amelia for a word.

"Gran would like to know if you're available for tea this week," Neville said.

"Of course," replied Amelia. "Is she still staying with the Greengrasses?"

Augusta Longbottom had taken the news of her son's betrayal rather hard. And a betrayal it was, in her mind, for she had spent fifteen years carrying the guilt of that night. To mourn a lost grandson, to grasp at any hope for a crippled son and his wife, only to learn that all three had been alive and well? It had nearly broken the unflappable Regent Longbottom.

"Yes, she is." Neville said, frowning. "There's no way she would set foot in Longbottom Hall while they're there. Not yet, anyway."

Amelia nodded. She could understand Augusta's reaction. Susan had raised a similar thought when they learned about Frank and Alice and Trevor - what if Edgar had come back in the same way? How would she react to her long dead brother, to Susan's father, after a deliberate and planned deception of this sort?

She knew the answer. _Not well._

"In that case, Tell Augusta that I am available whenever she is. Perhaps we will include Lord Greengrass as well." Amelia knew how that might look - and it was a far cry from her usual careful neutrality. But the reality was that House Bones had long been on good, even friendly, terms with both the Longbottoms and the Greengrasses. Declining an invitation to tea would say more than accepting one.

Neville inclined his head. "I will convey your message, Madam Bones."

Amelia smirked at the formality, but before she could comment, the floo sprang to life. Neville and Amelia turned to watch as a teenager stepped from the flames.

"Well," Neville muttered quietly, as the newcomer brushed off his robes. "This is a surprise."

"To me as well, Neville," Amelia said, just as quietly. Stepping forward, she regarded her guest. "Welcome to Bones Manor, Mister Longbottom."

Trevor looked at his host, and smiled politely. "Madam Bones, thank you. The others should be right behind me." With that, he stepped to the side, toward Neville.

"Trevor," said Neville, his expression carefully neutral.

"Neville," replied Trevor.

"What are you doing here?" Neville asked, skipping any sort of preliminaries.

"Me? I'm the moral support." With that, Trevor's eyes went to the fireplace, which had once again turned green.

"Oh, you're kidding me," said Neville, as Lily Potter and her son stepped out of the floo. Both wore nice robes in a more formal style - the sort one might wear to an important business meeting. Far more formal than you would expect at a teenager's birthday party. It was a sharp contrast to Trevor, who wore simpler, everyday robes.

Jamie glanced toward Trevor, and looked surprised to see Neville standing there as well. The fact that Neville was now wearing a scowl was not lost on anyone.

Lily was the first to speak. "Regent Bones, may I present my son, James Potter, Junior." She gestured toward Jamie, who stepped forward and gave Amelia a small bow.

"Madam Potter, Mister Potter, welcome to Bones Manor." Amelia replied, formally. The use of her title as Regent had gotten her attention. It meant that they would be discussing house business. Of course, why the former Lady Potter would need to discuss such matters without Lord Potter present was unclear. Amelia decided to probe the issue. "If there are house matters to discuss, should we summon Lord Potter? I believe he is out back with the other guests."

Jamie frowned at that, but quickly schooled his features. Lily looked suddenly uncomfortable. "That will be unnecessary, Amelia. This is a concern for Jamie and Susan, I would think."

Neville gasped, drawing a glance from Amelia. He met her eyes, and shook his head slightly. Amelia replied with a nod of agreement. Both of them knew exactly what Lily was after now, and what Harry's reaction would be.

 _He's going to flip,_ thought Neville.

"Neville," Amelia said, looking back at the Potters. "Why don't you take Jamie and Trevor out back to meet their future classmates. Madam Potter and I will sit in my office and clear the air."

Neville bowed again in acknowledgement. "Of course, Madam Bones." He turned to a worried looking Jamie and a confused looking Trevor. "Come, gentlemen, the Bones elves have outdone themselves this afternoon." He began walking toward the backyard.

Trevor and Jamie shared a glance, before turning to follow.

When they were gone, Amelia gave Lily a hard look. "Follow me, Lily."

oOoOoOoOo

Instead of taking his charges through the sunroom, and thus past the food, Neville walked them out a side door off of a sitting room. As a result, they walked out onto the stone patio largely unobserved.

Neville took the opportunity to point out the different people they saw. He noted, with a chuckle, that Trevor had already met some of them, to which Trevor grumbled something about a rematch. They saw Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood sitting together with Michael Corner and Lisa Turpin, watching the expansive backyard. There, Ron Weasley was throwing a yellow disc with Anthony Goldstein and Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor are probably inside getting something to eat," Neville continued. "I believe Susan and Harry are probably with them, since they're not out here yet."

"I should probably pay my respects to the birthday girl," Jamie said, looking at the glass door leading to the sunroom. "The food is through there, you said?"

Neville nodded. "It is. But Jamie, if you're here for the reasons I think you're here… Look, I'll be honest, you really need to speak with your mother before you do anything other than wish Susan a happy birthday. Seriously."

Before Jamie could reply, he heard a shout from the grass.

"Harry, heads up!"

Turning toward the noise, Jamie's vision filled with yellow, as the frisbee struck him in the face.

"Buggering hell!" Jamie spat, as his hands went to his face. The thick plastic disc had struck him right on the nose, which was now bleeding freely. Trevor and Neville led him over to a chair and sat him down.

"Back up, Longbottoms," said Ginny, as she and Luna walked over. Luna's wand was already out, and she began performing medical charms on the injury. Jamie struggled to sit still, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped his movement. "Relax, Mister Potter," Ginny said in a cold voice. "Luna knows what she's doing."

Justin, Ron, and Anthony arrived at that point, and the confusion on Anthony and Justin's face was clear. "How'd Harry miss that catch?" asked Justin.

Another gasp drew eyes to the sunroom, where Hermione and Hannah were walking out with their food. Hermione looked annoyed when she saw Jamie, for she knew who he was. Hannah, on the other hand, just looked confused. She looked back at the sunroom, then at Jamie. "But, he was just…" Her voice trailed off as Ron sighed.

"That's not Harry, Justin, Hannah," said Ron, his voice as cold as his sister's had been. Jamie's surprise appearance was clearly not a welcome one.

"Who is it, then?" asked Anthony.

Ron gestured toward the injured Potter. "Everyone, may I introduce James Potter, Junior, Harry Potter's secret twin."

Hermione continued to walk over to a table, setting her plate down. Hannah stood there, her mouth open, staring at Jamie. Anthony Goldstein was equally shocked. Justin, however, finally noticed that there were two Nevilles.

"And I suppose you're going to tell us that Neville had a secret twin as well?" he asked, incredulously.

Neville and Trevor looked at each other. Then, Neville turned back to the Hufflepuff. "Nah, I knew about Trevor. It just turns out they faked his death."

"Oh," replied Justin, not sure how else to respond to that.

The group was silent, processing the dual revelations of the afternoon, while Luna finished her work. Presently, she nodded and stood up.

"You'll be tender for a few minutes, Jamie," she said politely. "But you should be fine."

"Thank you," Jamie replied. He stood and brushed himself off, not realizing that Luna had done nothing to clean him up. So it was that when Susan and Harry walked out of the sunroom, laughing at some innocent comment, they were confronted with a very quiet gathering centered around a Jamie Potter with blood covering his shirt and lower face.

Jamie smiled broadly at them, which just made the look that much more bizarre. "Happy Birthday, Susan."

Susan stared at the lost and bloodied Potter twin, her mouth agape. It took Harry's response to shake her loose.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Harry muttered.

oOoOoOoOo

When they arrived in the Regent's study, Amelia indicated a seat on a couch near the fireplace. Lily Potter seated herself, and watched as her host poured two glasses of an amber liquid. She did not see the bottle, but the drink appeared almost muggle to her eyes.

Amelia set both glasses on the low table between them, before taking her seat on the facing couch.

"I thank you, Amelia, but I'd prefer not to drink just now." Lily was approaching this conversation as the negotiation she thought it was, and did not think it proper to drink beforehand.

Amelia shrugged, and took a sip of her drink. "Fair enough." Then she indicated the untouched glass on the table. "But let me be honest with you, Lily - by the time were done here, you're going to empty that glass."

Lily sighed. "I doubt that."

The Regent Bones looked over her guest, and frowned. "Lily, I didn't bring you up here to talk about the contract."

That brought Lily up short. "Susan just turned sixteen, Amelia."

A nod. "She did indeed."

Lily tilted her head. "Jamie turns sixteen in a few weeks."

"Also true." Amelia took another sip of her drink. "As does Lord Potter."

A chill ran through Lily. "What does he have to do with this?"

Amelia smiled at her - and it was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a prosecutor making her case. "He acknowledged the contract the day he took up the Lord's ring, Lily. He could have deferred it, and we would have passed it to a future generation. He could have cancelled it, for cause - Susan, not knowing about the contract, did not take Harry's selection as a triwizard champion very well. Instead, he took it up."

"How? It applied to the Heir Potter, and that's Jamie!"

"Until he was declared dead, yes." Amelia said, calmly. "Harry saw the notes that went with the document. James and Edgar wrote several contingencies into the contract. If everyone but Susan and Lord Potter survived the war, the contract could - if they so wished - allow them to wed, thus preserving both houses and keeping the wolves away from my niece." She leaned forward in her seat, levelling her gaze at Lily. "The entire point of the contract was to give a house we trusted - House Potter - pride of place among any potential betrothal. They did not want to risk the wizengamot assigning a spouse."

"I remember," Lily said, absently. "But, Harry?"

"Harry, your son, who had so many of his choices taken from him I might add, decided that no one would have _their_ choices taken in the same way." Amelia replied, her tone growing hard as she spoke. "So he decided to get to know my niece. If they got along, perhaps the betrothal would work. If not, then he would quietly cancel it and move on."

Lily sat back against the leather couch, processing this news. "Jamie's not her betrothed," she said.

"No. Harry and Susan have been flirting with each other for months, and decided just today to become a couple." Amelia smiled at that, in spite of her annoyance at her guest. _It was about time_ , she thought.

"But, his brother…" Lily said, weakly, before trailing off. "No, he had no idea. If he had known, everything would have been lost." She was almost speaking to herself now, as if working out a particularly tough problem.

Amelia had seen this before - and her instincts screamed at her to keep the suspect talking. That she viewed Lily as a suspect should have told her something, but just at this moment she was focused on taking her best chance at understanding just what the hell the Potters were thinking.

"What would it have hurt, Lily?" Amelia asked, quietly. "What would it have mattered if Harry grew up with you in hiding?" She took another sip. "Even if he went off to Hogwarts, to play the part of an orphaned boy-who-lived, what harm would that have done?"

Lily shook her head. "I doubt it would have harmed anything, for us. But we would have taken a hero from the Wizarding World, a source of hope. How would that have changed things here?"

Amelia answered immediately. "Not at all."

Lily stared at her. "How do you get that?"

A sad chuckle escaped the Regent Bones, and she took another sip of her drink. "Lily, until he set foot on the Express, the Wizarding World thought that Harry Potter was a child of adventure, seeing the world and fighting monsters. All they knew is what they read in a series of fiction books, and what our esteemed Chief Warlock chose to reveal. Anyone who asked was told that Harry was growing up in a safe location, and that he was receiving all the training he would need to be the wizard he was destined to be. None of that would have changed if Harry grew up with you." Amelia shook her head again, amazed that she had believed the tales Dumbledore told the Wizengamot over the years. "Lily, I went back and read the minutes from the eighties, and whenever Dumbledore addressed the subject, he spoke about the Boy-Who-Lived."

"What does that mean?" Lily asked, quietly.

"It means, I think, that he was talking about Jamie. Every time." Amelia replied, and again her voice grew cold. "While Harry was growing up in a cupboard, Jamie was surrounded by family and trained in his craft. So tell me, how would Harry having a loving home have changed anything?"

Lily, saying nothing, lifted her drink and took a healthy gulp. The muggle drink burned, and her eyes watered a little.

Amelia matched the gesture, emptying her own glass.

After a moment, she spoke again. "Why are you here, Madam Potter?" Amelia asked, quietly.

"I don't know what you mean," replied Lily, almost in a whisper. "We thought Jamie and Susan were…. They should meet…. Our houses…." Lily's voice trailed off, as she realized how weak the response was.

Amelia sat back in her seat. Lily had not given an answer, but what she said was enough. "Someone - probably James - thought that linking the newfound boy-who-lived to a respectable house such as my own would ease his way into the public eye." Lily's eyes told the tale - Amelia had gotten it exactly right. "I don't suppose your husband considered what effect that would have on my niece, did he? Or your son, for that matter."

Lily shook her head, still trying to process everything. "Jamie has known his duty for years now."

"I imagine so," Amelia scoffed. Then she tilted her head, considering the situation. "Why isn't James here making a case for the betrothal? Ignoring, for the moment, that he's not head of house, he's certainly Jamie's guardian. Where is he?"

Lily took another drink. "He's with Dumbledore, most days, figuring out who is marked as a death eater and who is just sympathetic."

 _That explains why the Headmaster brought them back, I suppose,_ thought Amelia.

Out loud, Amelia sighed. "Well, while your husband is making his lists, Harry and his team have helped capture over a dozen death eaters, most of whom are held overseas. The Dark Lord will not be breaking them out anytime soon."

"Yes, I heard." Lily said, bitterly. "I also know he's killed."

"We are at war, Madam Potter." Amelia replied. "Every death eater takes a vow to serve the whims of the Dark Lord. Does that sound like an enemy who would surrender? Who would sue for peace, sign a treaty of some sort, or simply vanish into the night?"

Lily closed her eyes, sinking back in her seat. "This was all so much simpler, before we came back."

"I can imagine," said Amelia. "Lily, you were one of the smartest witches I ever knew. Everything you were told about the state of Wizarding Britain came from one source - Headmaster Dumbledore. And you never questioned? You never wondered if you were getting the whole story?"

Lily's features clouded over, the sadness growing into anger. "You have no idea what we sacrificed, Amelia. None whatsoever." Lily's hand moved toward her stomach, an unconscious move that nonetheless caught Amelia's eye.

"What did you give up, Lily?" asked Amelia, quietly.

Lily shook her head, wiping a tear away. "We thought Harry was happy and safe, and now he hates us. We'll never get that back. We thought Jamie would lead the light to victory, but he's not even heir of his own house. We…" She took a deep breath, and again wrapped a hand around herself.

"What happened, Lily?" Amelia asked, quietly.

"We… tried for another baby." came Lily's equally quiet reply. "I think part of me realized that Jamie needed a sibling. Oh, he was close to Trevor but it's not the same, not really. So we tried." She looked up at Amelia, who watched her intently. "Jamie was three, we were eating dinner one night. I was eight months along. Suddenly, I just collapsed, bleeding."

"Merlin," whispered Amelia.

"When I woke up, I had had the baby. But my little girl was stillborn, Amelia." Lily closed her eyes, fighting tears. "We lived under a charm that blocked magic, could that have harmed my little girl? We didn't have a healer with us, couldn't send for one. Did I kill her?"

"You know the answer to that, Lily."

Lily nodded. "I know it here," she said, tapping herself on the temple. "But here?" She placed a hand over her heart. "I'll always wonder."

Amelia remained silent. Instead, she simply refilled their drinks.

Wiping her eyes, Lily again shook her head. "I don't know what's going to happen," she said, quietly. Then, she looked at Amelia. "But I refuse to believe that it was all for nothing."

oOoOoOoOo

Jamie Potter sat by himself, a short distance away from the rest of the group. These were his classmates, it would seem, but at the moment he had no desire to speak with them. Most of them were sitting around the red-haired boy and a blonde girl, playing an intense chess match on a muggle board. Chess had never been Jamie's game - Trevor always beat him - but he could tell that both players were skilled. This was apparently their third match of the day, each having already won once.

Neither Ron Weasley nor Hannah Abbott was willing to leave the series tied.

About the only person who had taken the time to sit with him had been Trevor, but even he was in the wind. He and Neville had taken the opportunity to go off on their own, hopefully to hash out their differences. Trevor had been worried that Neville would hate him for attempting to lie about his identity the week prior. It had not been a good first impression, they had agreed on that.

At the end, though, they were brothers, and that had to count for something, right?

Jamie was pulled from his thoughts by the clink of a butterbeer. Looking up, he saw Harry opening his own bottle and sitting nearby.

"You looked bored," Harry remarked, taking a drink.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "I was just thinking about how bad of a first impression Trevor made with Neville last week, and here I am making an arse of myself in front of… well, everybody, really."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah, the bloody look is pretty hard to pull off." He shrugged. "Nothing for it, though."

Jamie said nothing as he opened his own butterbeer.

"I have to ask, though," continued Harry. "I've seen your reflexes, and they're pretty good. How'd you get hit by that frisbee?"

Jamie looked confused for a moment, before he realized what Harry meant. "Oh, the flying disc thing? I've never seen one before today."

"Uh huh," replied Harry, unconvinced. "Neville said you might have been distracted."

 _There it is,_ thought Jamie. "I'm not going to steal your girl, Harry, if that's what you're wondering. But when I walked out here, I honestly thought I was meeting my future wife." He looked over at his brother. "Tell me that wouldn't distract you, too."

"Oh, you're not wrong," agreed Harry, sipping his butterbeer.

"I just wanted to help, you know?" Jamie said, his eyes looking at the group watching the chess match.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Having Susan as a betrothed would help you?"

"Dad said that connecting our house to House Bones would help the public accept me," Jamie replied.

"She's not a political tool, Jamie," Harry said, annoyed at the cold calculation his father had displayed - and at how he had roped Jamie into such a maneuver.

Jamie turned when he heard Harry's tone. "I know that, Harry. Even before I knew about you two, I knew it."

Harry considered that. "If you knew it was the wrong way to go about things, then why did you agree to it?"

Jamie sipped his butterbeer, considering that. "I'm not sure. I guess I figured it was my duty."

"Uh huh," Harry said again. Jamie frowned at the comment, but said nothing.

They sat there for a few minutes, watching the party. Susan's laugh carried across the patio, and Jamie couldn't help but notice Harry's smile at the sound. _Good on you,_ he thought.

When Susan waved him over, Harry finished off his butterbeer and stood. "May I make a suggestion, Jamie?"

Jamie sighed, expecting a lecture. "Sure, everyone else does."

Harry frowned at that, but he let the remark pass. "Your training, whatever it was, your education to this point, even your presence here today - everything was something that you did for others. For your father, for Dumbledore, and so on." Harry's eyes met his brother's, and he smiled down at the boy. "Consider trying to do something for Jamie Potter instead. See how that works out for you."

Jamie had no response, and could only give his brother a small nod. Harry took this for what it was worth - a beginning - and walked back over to his girlfriend.

oOoOoOoOo

Lily Potter had taken the floo in Amelia's study, not feeling up to seeing - or being seen by - either of her sons. She had had a very emotional afternoon, but it felt very much like such a talk had been a long time coming.

Amelia just hoped that the woman could be made to see reason. Harry did not need his own family, however estranged, actively working against him.

Sitting back in her favorite chair, she sipped on her drink and considered the events of that afternoon. It was not long, however, before her reverie was broken by Auror Patterson.

"Director?" asked the Auror, one of two assigned to her personal security.

A sigh. "Yes, Patterson?"

"Umm, we have a muggle who just arrived via portkey, Director."

Amelia looked up. "And?"

Patterson paused, looking at her incredulously. "Obviously, it's a mistake of some sort, right?"

Amelia glared at him. "Do you mean to suggest that I am not careful in giving out portkeys to my own home, Mister Patterson?"

"No, Director," he replied, chastened.

"Good, then please escort Colonel Ramsay in." When Patterson hesitated, Amelia brought out her Director voice. "Now, Auror!"

"Yes, Director!" was the quick reply, before Patterson left as quickly as he could.

Amelia closed her eyes and sat back in her chair, her feet up on the table in front of her. The talk with Lily had been more draining than she had realized, and she just wanted to relax for a moment.

The blessed few minutes of quiet were interrupted by a chuckle from the doorway.

"Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown," said Colonel Ramsay, with no small amount of amusement.

Amelia opened her eyes and looked at her guest, smiling in spite of herself. "So they tell me," she agreed. "Come in, don't leave me to drink alone."

Ramsay gave her a mock bow. "Of course not, your grace." He made his way over to the empty couch, sitting heavily in the seat Lily Potter had vacated. "What troubles you, Madam Director?"

"Lily Potter was here," she said, simply.

The grin faded from the Colonel's face. "Oh, shit," he said.

"Yeah," replied Amelia.

Saying nothing further, Ramsay began pouring drinks for the both of them.

oOoOoOoOo

Ron and Hannah eventually agreed to a draw, much to their frustration. Both were convinced that they could win the match, given enough time, but the party had drawn to a close before they could reach that point. With darkness looming, they decided to let the winner be determined another day.

Hannah was overheard promising to visit the burrow in the coming weeks, ostensibly for a rematch - much to Susan's amusement.

Jamie and Trevor had quietly floo'ed out together, heading for Longbottom Hall. Neville had made no comment about that as he himself went to Potter Manor. The other guests were soon on their way to their homes, leaving Susan and Harry.

The new couple found themselves in a sitting room, looking out on the front of the property. Each was working on a leftover slice of birthday cake.

"I think Ron and Hannah will be good for each other, don't you?" Susan asked, a mischievous gleam in her eye.

Harry had to nod at that. "I bow to your superior matchmaking skills, Miss Bones," he said, theatrically. "If they don't murder each other over a game of chess, they'll make a fine couple."

"Well, that's the trick, isn't it?" she said, setting her empty plate down. Harry watched as she stood up and walked over. Her fork still in hand, she leaned over and stole the last bite off of his plate. Then she took the plate from his hands and set it aside.

"This is going to be a thing with you, isn't it?" he asked, amusement in his tone.

Susan sat down in his lap, wrapping her arms around him. "Maybe."

oOoOoOoOo

"It's wartime," Amelia argued.

"Yes, it is." agreed Ramsay.

"I'm needed where I am," she continued.

"You're needed at 100%, Madam Director," Ramsay argued.

Amelia huffed. "Fine."

Ramsay grinned at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"I said fine, damn you, I'll do it! There, happy now?"

"Yes, yes I am." Ramsay said. "Thank you."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Don't thank me yet, Mark, I'll probably have to leave before we even get started."

"Nonsense," he countered. "The Ministry will not come to a screeching halt simply because Madam Amelia Bones agreed to go out to dinner in the muggle world."

"You underestimate the stupidity of the Ministry of Magic," Amelia cautioned.

"Probably," he agreed, still smiling.

Before she could reply, the door to her study opened, admitting Aurors Patterson and Green.

Patterson spoke first. "Director, we have a situation," he said, without preamble.

The change was immediate. Amelia Bones was gone, replaced with Director Bones of the DMLE. "Report."

Colonel Ramsay listened with half an ear as Patterson talked about intelligence that suggested a death eater attack planned for that night. Instead, he walked to the window, looking out at the front courtyard of Bones Manor. It was a clear night, but the new moon didn't allow much in the way of light. Still, it was almost as if he could see…. something, out there at the tree line.

"Green," he said quietly. "Come here a moment."

The junior auror walked over to stand next to the Colonel. Before either of them could speak, a flash of green light illuminated the darkness. As they watched, a green shape formed over the trees - a skull and a snake.

"Holy shit," breathed Ramsay. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Yes, sir," said Green, not even realizing he had just called a muggle _sir_. "That's the Dark Mark."

Ramsay was about to ask a question, when he noticed that Patterson had raised his wand. Green, transfixed by the Dark Mark, did not see.

"Avada Kadavra!" With that angry shout, a jet of green light struck Auror Green, and he fell to the floor in a heap.

Patterson turned his wand to the director, who had remained seated. In his mind, the muggle was not a threat - whereas the Director was a skilled duelist. She had her wand in a holster, but could she get it in time? The Auror was sneering, his eyes filled with hate, as he opened his mouth to cast the killing curse.

"Avada Kad—-" The curse died on his lips, as a knife sprouted in his throat. In an instant, Ramsay was dragging Patterson to the ground, flinging his wand away. Patterson tried desperately to reach up and stem the flow of blood, but Ramsay's powerful hands were already driving the knife into the auror's heart, stilling him permanently.

Amelia stared at the dead auror, who seconds ago had killed his own partner.

"Auntie?" Susan's voice came from the hallway. Amelia couldn't reply, so it fell to Ramsay.

"All clear!" He shouted. As if on cue, Harry and Susan entered the study, wands out. By wordless agreement, Susan moved to the window to check on Green, while Harry approached the Colonel and Patterson.

Without a word, Harry lifted the sleeve of Patterson's left arm. Even stilled by the man's death, the ugly snake and skull tattoo of the Dark Mark gave them pause.

Amelia's grunt drew Harry's attention. "Amelia?"

She sat back down. "The wards are under attack."

Harry walked to the fireplace, knowing it was futile but needing to make sure. Tossing a handful of powder into the floo, he shouted "Potter Manor!"

The flames did not change.

Harry looked to Amelia, who seemed to be staring off into space. He knew she was interpreting the state of the wards, trying to see if there was an exit.

"With your permission, Madam Bones?" He asked, formally. Off her nod, he looked to the ceiling. "Dobby!"

A soft pop signalled the arrival of Dobby.

Harry did not wait for the elf to speak. "Bones Manor is under attack, Dobby." He nodded toward the front of the manor. "Until we can escape or get help, we need to make our stand here." He knelt down and looked Dobby in the eyes. They had discussed this at length, even practicing once or twice. Dobby knew what traps Harry wanted, how they should be placed for maximum effect, and so on. The elf had been thrilled to help Master Harry Sirs take his fight to the dark ones.

But now, when Harry gave the command, Dobby couldn't help but look at his Master in shock.

Harry's voice was hard as steel as he spoke. "Dobby, set the table."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Quite the party. As always, things heat up after dark.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	19. The Battle of Bones Manor

_Shortly before his thirteenth birthday, Harry Potter found himself sitting at the back of a classroom at RMA Sandhurst, listening in on one of Colonel Ramsay's lectures. The Colonel had planned to take Harry on a tour of the Academy that afternoon, an offer to which Harry could not say no._

 _It was trivial for him to get from Privet Drive to the nearest train station. Less than an hour later, Harry was showing his visitor's pass at the main gate. The guard gave him a funny look, but allowed him in._

 _Ramsay was beginning his lesson when Harry found his classroom. None of the twenty cadets in attendance noticed the boy take a seat against the back wall._

" _Defensive tactics," began Colonel Ramsay, "are never sufficient to win an engagement. But neglecting them can easily be the critical factor in losing the battle - and, likely, your command as well." Ramsay, as was his habit, walked across the front of the room as he spoke. He needed no notes for this lecture, as it was one of the most basic he taught. "So, give me the main purposes of defensive operations."_

 _After a moment, cadets began raising their hands, and Ramsay called on each by name._

" _Area denial, sir?" said one cadet, his voice uncertain._

 _Ramsay glanced at Harry before responding. "Are you asking me, or telling me, Mister Robinson?"_

" _Telling you, sir."_

" _Good," replied the Colonel. "Denying the opposition access to a vital area, or holding decisive terrain, are both worth fighting a defensive action."_

 _A woman near the front spoke up, then. "Responding to a surprise attack, sir."_

 _Ramsay nodded. "This is why you stand watches, set static defenses around your position, and so on. The quicker you can respond to a surprise attack, the better your unit's response will be. Another?"_

" _Maneuvering the enemy?" suggested another cadet._

" _Close enough," answered Ramsay. "If you can channel the attacking force into a particular location where they are more vulnerable, you can prepare a counterattack, or set the table for another unit to counterattack. Get the enemy to chase you right into your own reinforcements, and the situation turns rather quickly."_

 _The cadets were scribbling their notes as quickly as they could. Ramsay frowned as he watched, seeing that no one else had a suggestion._

" _No one?" Ramsay asked the room. He had a predatory smile as he looked at the back of the classroom. "What about you, Harry?"_

 _Harry groaned as the cadets turned in their seats, looking curiously at the young boy sitting amongst their number. Ramsay was still grinning at him, inviting him to answer. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself and spoke._

" _Thinning the enemy's forces to prepare a counterattack, sir." Harry answered, in a voice that had much more confidence than he felt just then._

" _Exactly right," said Ramsay. "The enemy has you where they want you, they are in no hurry to crush you. So take the time they give you, send out sorties, precision strikes. Catch out that patrol that strays too close to your line. Invite your snipers to indulge themselves. Slip behind their lines and sabotage their supplies, damage their effectiveness in any way you can."_

 _Ramsay continued pacing as he spoke. "All four of these doctrines are handled in different ways, and are always subject to the needs of the mission. But each is intended to allow you to shift from defense to offence. As I said at the beginning, defensive tactics will not win any battles. But if you learn them, and use them at every opportunity, I guarantee that your offensive will be that much more effective, because you'll have already done half the work before taking the initiative."_

 _Half the cadets were still staring at the kid who knew more about this than they did. Ramsay noticed the looks, and brought an edge to his voice._

" _Well? Why aren't you writing this down?" The remaining cadets spun around and got back to writing. Ramsay glanced back at Harry and gave him an amused shrug, causing Harry to chuckle._

oOoOoOoOo

The pop of a house elf shook Harry Potter from his thoughts. Looking up from his seat, he saw Dobby reappear in Amelia's study, alongside Dixie - another Potter elf. Both wore fatigues in dark green, boots and all. Dobby was carrying a satchel, while Dixie had a folder of what looked like paperwork.

Standing, Harry looked at Madam Bones, who was sitting on the couch talking with Susan. "Madam Bones, how long will the wards hold?"

Amelia looked up at Harry, and did not see her niece's boyfriend. Instead, she saw a wizard preparing to go into battle - his expression was hard, and brooked no nonsense. His wand was out, as if a threat would burst through the door at any moment.

 _Merlin,_ she thought. "You plan to fight them," she said. It was not a question.

He nodded. "Dobby can signal Neville, who can summon help. If we can hold long enough, they will approach the Death Eaters from behind and force them to retreat. Failing that, we can escape out the back on brooms or on foot. Once we clear the anti-portkey wards, I can get all four of us to Potter Manor."

"We need to summon Aurors," Amelia said. Harry looked over at Ramsay, who gave the dead Auror Patterson head a nudge with his foot.

"You have been compromised at a very high level, Amelia," Ramsay said, as gently as he could. "Say we get a signal to the Auror office, who is to say that they don't ignore the summons? Or worse," he continued, hooking a thumb at the window - and the still glowing dark mark floating over the woods. "What if they let their mates know?"

Amelia scowled, but could not argue with their logic. Then she looked at Harry, who was beginning to spread out some of the papers from Dixie on Amelia's desk. Their eyes met, and Amelia gave him a long, appraising look.

After a moment, she nodded. "I'm trusting you with our lives, Mister Potter."

Harry returned the nod. "Yes, ma'am." He looked down at Dobby, who had waited quietly throughout their discussion. "Give her the coins, Dobby."

"Yessir," replied the elf. With a snap, a stack of coins appeared on the table in front of Amelia and Susan.

Picking one up, Susan saw that it was American - silver like a sickle, but much larger. It was marked as a dollar, with an Eagle landing on a rock on one side. "What's this?" she asked, holding up the coin.

"The moon landing," Harry replied, without looking up.

"What?" Susan asked, incredulous.

Harry looked up at her and smiled, despite himself. "Long story. For now, leave it. We use these coins because large nonmagical coins are easier to work with for what we want to do." Then, Harry turned to Madam Bones. "Amelia, can you turn those coins into portkeys to different locations within your wards?"

Amelia nodded, confused. "I could, but why?"

Before Harry could reply, Dobby was setting potions on the small table. Each was a bright yellow in color, and had a thin wax seal at the top rather than a secure stopper. Susan noticed that there was no air in the phials - the liquid was right against the wax.

Harry held up one of the potions. "When I signal, each coin takes one of those bottles to a spot thirty feet in the air, and then the bottle begins to fall. That pushes the liquid against the seal, which is deliberately thin. The seal breaks, and when the potion meets oxygen, it burns."

Susan looked closely at one of the potions. "What does it burn?"

Harry shrugged. "That high up, nothing. But it's brighter than a Lumos Maxima, and completely blinding if you're not expecting it."

Amelia nodded, understanding what he wanted. "Fine, but where do you want them?"

Harry waved her over to her desk. "Not sure yet," he said as she approached. When she got close, she saw a large sheet of muggle paper with a black and white picture. The image was of a forested area, completely unremarkable.

"What's this?" she asked.

"That, Madam Bones, is Bones Manor as seen from space." Harry shared a glance with Colonel Ramsay, who was speaking quietly with Dobby.

"But it's just trees," Susan remarked as she walked up.

"Of course," Harry agreed. "You have muggle repelling wards up, and those work across the entire surface of the wards - including above. So a camera floating above the sky, looking down, sees exactly what a muggle standing outside would see." He gestured at the woods on the paper. "Nothing."

"Cut to the chase, Harry," Ramsay warned. He was now standing at the window, trying to get a look at their attackers.

"Right," said Harry, chastened. "See, even with the wards blocking the picture, we can still use this as a map. What do you think that is?" Harry pointed at a small stone at the edge of the map, and heard a gasp from Amelia.

"The anchor stone." she said, almost in a whisper. It was the small wardstone that controlled how wide the ward's radius could be. By design, it would have to be outside the wards to function, since it set the upper limit for the main wardstones inside the manor.

"Right," agreed Harry. "Dixie?" The second elf produced another sheet of muggle paper - this time, with the outline of Bones Manor inked into the image.

"This is… how?" Susan looked from the map to Harry, confusion on her features.

Harry looked over at Madam Bones, who was studying the map. She had had an emotional day dealing with his mother, and then had had an enjoyable evening drinking with the Colonel. She was not at the top of her game, and the stress on the wards had her even further out of sorts - as did the murder attempt from one of her most trusted aurors.

Harry found that he was happy to explain all of this to the two women - because doing so kept their minds off the two dozen death eaters gathered north of the manor, working on breaking the wards. Fergus, another of the Potter elves, had gotten a quick count and given it to Dobby, before proceeding with his part of the plan.

"Dixie used the anchor stone as a guide, and made a map of your home." Harry said, with a shrug. It was a bit of a faux pas, making a map of someone else's home - but it had been good practice for Dixie, and it turned out to be useful after all.

"Of course she did," Susan said quietly, as she too studied the map.

Harry began pointing to the area between the northern woods and the manor. "Fergus says they're all there, so we set up a few distractions in the woods on either side of their location. When the wards come down, they'll come in toward the manor, and that's when the potions will start up. They'll be disoriented, they'll be confused, and then they'll come under spellfire."

"From who, exactly?" Amelia asked, her eyes never leaving the map.

"Training dummies," Harry said. "Here, and here." He drew lines in the woods that flanked the easiest path for the death eaters to take as they approach the manor. "Nothing worse than a stunner or two, but some of those stunners will be green - so they will _think_ that someone's trying to use the killing curse. And enough stunners at once can still be fatal."

"But it's not actually the killing curse," replied Susan.

"Doesn't matter," answered Harry. "If I think someone's using the killing curse on me, I'm going to go after them. And every minute they're searching the woods is a minute they're not storming the manor." Before he could continue, a third elf popped into the room. Ignoring everyone else, the elf marked six red dots on the map, and popped away without saying a word.

Ramsay looked at the updated map, and sighed. "Escape's out, they have six more waiting for us to make a break for it."

"Six is better than twenty, right?" asked Susan, worry creeping into her voice.

"Normally," said Harry, who was looking at the map himself. "But when the other twenty can apparate over at will, it's no good. The lookouts signal, and we're surrounded."

Amelia sighed again. "So we fight."

"There's three of us," said Susan. Harry glanced at the Colonel, who nodded in response to the unasked question.

"Dobby!" With a pop, the elf arrived and looked at Harry, who gestured to the Colonel. "Please retrieve our gear, Dobby." With a salute, the elf popped away.

"Ten minutes on the wards, Harry," said Amelia, a look of worry on her face. She was surprised the death eaters were not making a more concerted effort to breach the manor's protections, until she realized that they underestimated her. Perhaps they thought that their inside man had been successful?

Harry looked at his watch, rotating the dial to mark the time. "Alright, in five minutes I want you to drop the wards on your own."

"What? Why?"

"Because if you drop the wards, they retain their charge - and you can go to the wardstone and funnel that residual charge into dropping the anti-portkey wards while I keep them busy. If the wards fall because they get broken, it will take a while for them to recharge." Harry looked at Amelia. "That last bit of magic is more useful to us than those five minutes."

Amelia nodded at the unconventional strategy - when he explained it that way, it made sense. Their total resources were the remaining magic of the wards, plus whatever Harry and Ramsay had their elves setting up. Every bit helped.

Dobby returned then, carrying two large green duffel bags. Ramsay took one, and moved to the side. Susan watched as Harry pulled out his longcoat and a webbed belt with several pouches. She walked over to help him get ready.

"I can fight, Harry," she said quietly.

Harry's expression was unreadable. "No one knows that better than I, Sue." He took one of her hands in his own, and met her eyes. "But if you're out there, in this mess, I won't be able to do what I need to do without worrying. I need you to stay here, help the Colonel and your aunt."

"Hermione and Ginny and Luna get to fight with you," Susan replied, a little hurt creeping into her voice.

Harry snorted at that. "Yeah, well I'm not falling for any of them, am I?"

Susan's eyes grew wide at the admission, and Harry's followed shortly, once he realized what he'd said. Then she was in his arms.

"Be safe," she said urgently. Harry replied by kissing her forehead.

"You know me," he replied.

She chuckled sadly at that. "Yeah, I do." Then she looked up, into his eyes. "So be safe."

Another kiss followed. "Yes, My Lady." Harry whispered.

oOoOoOoOo

A metallic click drew their eyes across the room. Colonel Ramsay had put on a black vest, and was holstering a sidearm.

Susan looked confused. "Is that muggle armor?" she asked.

"Kevlar," Harry replied. "With steel woven into the fabric. It won't stop anything really nasty, but it should defend against cutting or piercing hexes, as well as debris."

"Mark," Amelia began, wanting to ask what he planned.

"I'm not going anywhere," Ramsay answered the unasked question.

"You're a muggle," Amelia continued.

"Last I checked," Ramsay agreed.

"If a muggle kills purebloods with a firearm… Mark, they'll kill you."

"I'm already under attack just by being here, Amelia," he answered evenly. "They aren't going to spare me if I hold fire, are they?" He met her eyes, and did his best to be reassuring. "I'll be here for the duration."

"Besides," said Harry, as he finished getting his own gear in order. "His bullets are conjured, so after an hour it'll look like piercing hexes. He'll be fine once this is over." The unspoken _if we survive_ did not go unnoticed by anyone.

Amelia saw Harry glance at his watch, and then take a deep breath. "It's time." He took out what looked like a keychain and set it on the desk. Stepping closer, Amelia could see coins of all different sizes, each one with a hole drilled through its center. There were more than thirty, all of them secured to a metal ring. Harry cast a quick _silencio_ on the coins, before placing them on his belt.

She did not notice the similar set of coins on Ramsay's belt.

Ramsay placed a hand on her shoulder, causing Amelia to look up at the tall man. He smiled at her, doing his best to be reassuring. "We'll be fine," he said.

Amelia nodded, not knowing what else to do. "I don't like this, any of it."

The Colonel's expression turned serious, and he inclined his head towards the desk, where Harry was marking locations on the map. "Neither does he."

Harry nodded to the adults, and then gave Susan another kiss. Without words, without a command, Dobby appeared. Placing his hand on Harry's belt, the pair popped away silently.

"And that's fortunate for Harry," Ramsay continued in a quiet voice. "Because he is exceptionally skilled at this." He did not have to tell Amelia what _this_ he meant, for she had seen the aftermath of the Ministry. She knew what was coming for the death eaters.

oOoOoOoOo

Marcus Flint watched as three death eaters poured magic into the nearest wardstone. A cursebreaker might have had the wards down by now, but none had been sent on this mission.

It was one woman, and maybe her blood traitor of a niece. There was no reason to send the inner circle.

There might not even be the need for a battle, if their inside man had been successful. Flint was shocked at how easy it had been to insert a death eater into the protection detail for the DMLE Director. If the same squad protected the Minister, then perhaps the war would already be over - but such was not the case.

The Bones woman would have to do for tonight.

The death eaters were waiting at the edge of the woods north of the manor. They would need to pass through a hundred meters of trees before arriving at the front gate. Another hundred meters would take them to the courtyard, and then the home itself. The goal was to find the Bones women and kill them.

When the aurors finally arrived, they would find their director's head on a spike in front of a burning manor.

Yaxley was in charge, as the only senior death eater present. The Dark Lord had said that it was a simple enough mission that even he could accomplish it. Flint had shared glances with several of his yearmates at that - and at the fact that Yaxley did not recognize the insult for what it was.

A shimmering in the air caught the attention of the group. "The wards are down!" one of the impromptu cursebreakers shouted.

"That was quick," remarked Flint.

Yaxley shrugged. "Who cares? Let's get this done." With that, he shot a spell toward the manor. The other death eaters, wands out, moved forward at his signal.

Immediately, they came under spellfire from the left and right. Red stunners were mixed with the occasional green of the killing curse, and as one the death eaters fell to the ground and took cover.

"What the fuck?!" snarled Yaxley. "How the hell did they get backup?"

"No idea," said Flint.

One of the newest recruits, a kid named Theo, stood up to move back toward the rear, and got struck by a red curse. To his surprise, nothing happened. Theo Nott stood there, dumbly, looking around. Then the kid broke out in a grin.

"It's fake! That was just a stinging hex!" He laughed at the death eaters still prone on the ground. "It's a trick, we can-"

Flint's eyes snapped back to the sixth year when his laughing cries cut off suddenly. Theo's words had died in his throat, mainly because his throat had been blasted open by a cutting curse. His hands went to his neck, hoping to stop the bleeding, but the damage was done. Flint watched as Theo Nott, a death eater for just three days, fell backwards - drowning in his own blood.

" _Hominem Revelio."_ A nearby death eater cast the revealing charm, hoping to get an idea of how many stood against them. To his surprise, the charm revealed no one other than the death eaters. The man seemed to panic at that, and looked at Yaxley. "Can you block a revealing charm?" he asked, fear creeping into his voice.

"How the fuck should I know?" growled Yaxley. "How many are there?"

The death eater shook his head. "None."

"Bullshite." said another death eater.

The first man shrugged. "The spell says that we're the only ones out here."

"How many in the manor?" asked Yaxley.

"We're too far," was the reply.

"Fine," Yaxley replied with a snarl. "Then let's get moving."

oOoOoOoOo

Harry watched from underneath his invisibility cloak as the death eaters began to move forward. They kept themselves low, and the dummy spells flew over their heads.

He wanted them to move forward - Dobby and Fergus had prepared a nice surprise for them, and it would be a shame if they missed it. But, that didn't mean he wanted them to move too fast. Reaching down, Harry lifted the ring of coins to his mouth and whispered.

"Papa Tango."

oOoOoOoOo

Amelia Bones was in a small room off of her study, working with the manor's ward stone, when she heard Harry's voice. Looking back into her office, she saw two coins on Ramsay's belt glowing. One glowed and said "Papa," while another said "Tango." Amelia realized that each coin conveyed one word, and as a set they could pass along any message without having to deal with transfiguration or the like.

Susan had showed her the DA coins from last term, and she liked the idea. Auror badges operated on similar principles. This concept seemed far more versatile.

"Can you help me, Susan?" Ramsay asked, as he rummaged through his bag.

"Yes," she said, walking over from her place near the doorway. When she came near, Ramsay handed her what looked like a telescope - except instead of the brass finish she was accustomed to, it had a dull black metal look, and was completely non-reflective.

"Look through this, and find one of the death eaters," Ramsay said. He indicated a small button on top of the device. "Then push that."

Susan considered the device. "That's it?"

A nod. "That's it. Harry will take care of the rest."

"What does it do?" she asked.

Ramsay smiled grimly, as if at a joke only he knew. "It paints the target."

Susan wasn't sure what to say to that, so she said nothing. Looking through the scope, she saw several death eaters inching forward. One of them caught her eye, a seventh year slytherin who had given her a bad time in Hogsmeade. Her friends had gotten him to back off, but she shuddered to think what might have happened if she had been alone.

Carefully, she focused the scope on Terrence Higgs and hit the switch. A small red dot appeared on his robes, but he did not notice.

The effect, however, was unmistakable. Within seconds of the dot appearing, all of the spells that had been passing harmlessly over the heads of the death eaters stopped. Then, as if on cue, every single one struck Higgs. The combination of stinging hexes, stunners, and other similar spells left Higgs on the ground, convulsing.

oOoOoOoOo

Even with their advance halted, the death eaters were near the first portkey target. Again, Harry lifted the coins and whispered.

oOoOoOoOo

"Lima One" said Ramsay's set of coins. The Colonel looked back at the table, where the potions had been paired with their own coins. Each silver dollar had been made into a portkey by Madam Bones, with a list of different activation phrases for each.

From his place near the doorway, Ramsay shouted the first of those phrases. "Alpha!"

The first potion disappeared as the portkey took effect.

"Susan," he said, "You'll want to close your eyes for a moment."

oOoOoOoOo

Flint was still staring at the still body of Higgs, not sure what to do. The fact that he was looking away from the manor probably saved his life, for at that moment a massive burst of light blinded most of the death eaters.

The flash had been up in the air, making a spell unlikely. Beyond that, Flint had no idea what had happened. All he knew was that he saw the bright light reflected off the trees behind him, as if it had been bright daylight for a moment. Then he heard the shouts of pain from the death eaters, as they covered their eyes.

All of that noise made it simple for their attacker to find targets. The light was still fading when Flint saw another death eater take a cutting curse to the neck. His corpse fell to the ground, his head rolling away. Two more death eaters had fallen as well, their cries stilled by brutal curses to the head.

"We're being hunted," he said, to no one in particular.

"What the fuck," another death eater began. Flint looked over and saw a red point of light on his cloak. Again, the spellfire stopped for a moment. Again, the targeted death eater was struck by a number of spells at once.

Flint was close enough to check on him, and found the death eater stunned. Higgs had been hit by a higher number of stunners, which proved fatal. Here, a pair of trees had shielded this death eater from a number of curses.

 _Lucky him._

There was another flash, and the majority of the death eaters were blinded again. When Flint was able to open his eyes, he saw that two more death eaters had been killed. One had taken a piercing hex to the forehead, and the man next to him had been decapitated.

"Keep moving!" shouted Yaxley, struggling to regain control of the situation.

"Fuck this," said one of the new recruits, before bolting away from the manor. Flint, being near the back of the group after checking on Higgs, managed to trip the retreating wizard. A stunner followed, leaving the coward out of the fight - for now. Flint knew that Yaxley - or perhaps even the Dark Lord - would deal with him after the battle.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry saw the first six death eaters clear the trees. The training dummies were still peppering the group with spells, but these death eaters had been better at dodging than their comrades. They figured - correctly - that their best chance of survival involved getting to the manor as quickly as possible, and were moving forward rapidly as a result.

Unfortunately, they did not account for Dobby and Fergus.

There was not a tripwire across the entire clearing. Instead, the wires had been specially conjured using a trick that Luna had devised. The first few death eaters to pass did so without trouble. Once they were in the kill zone, however, the next death eater would find a solid wire barring their path.

What wizard would notice a muggle trap like that?

From his place at the edge of the trees, Harry saw the tripwire pop into place, and saw the death eater step into it. Knowing what was to come, Harry ducked down and covered his ears.

oOoOoOoOo

Flint was watching the first six death eaters make their approach to the manor when the group was obscured by a blasting hex of some sort. The explosion of dirt and debris was accompanied by a rumbling boom that knocked the remaining death eaters off of their feet. He had not seen the spell that caused the explosion, but he could see the result.

To his horror, the dirt that was raining down on them was mixed with bits of gore. Of the six death eaters, nothing remained.

"Merlin," breathed Flint. Yaxley, standing nearby, was struck dumb by the sight.

Then a slight movement caught Flint's attention. Turning to his left, he saw the edge of the treeline - and a clump of bloodied dirt that had landed in mid air.

 _Someone's there!_ Raising his wand, Flint let loose with a stunner.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry felt the debris land on his head, and cursed his luck. The invisibility cloak was well nigh impervious to all forms of detection - but it was a physical barrier. A clump of dirt landing on it would be quite visible.

Hearing the shout behind him, Harry fell to the deck and rolled to the side, taking cover behind a tree. Peeking out, he saw Marcus Flint advancing on him. The other death eaters were still regrouping, Harry saw, so perhaps this was still salvageable.

"Lima Three" he said, as he rolled to dodge another curse, this time a bludgeoning curse aimed at his legs. If he had judged correctly, the third potion would explode just behind him… _now!_

The flash of light did its work, and Flint reached up to cover his eyes. The inevitable reflex left him open to attack, and Harry sent a diffindo his way.

The curse should have been fatal, but Flint shifted to the side at the last moment. Instead of bisecting him at the waist, it merely removed his left forearm. The remaining three inches of the dark mark burned, crawling up the arm as if for safety.

Flint, rapidly losing blood, triggered his emergency portkey, and disappeared.

oOoOoOoOo

"Rookwood!"

Ambrose looked up from his desk at Pansy's shout. It was late, and she was still recovering - which made it odd that she was still awake.

Rushing downstairs, Ambrose found his houseguest in her pajamas, waving her wand over an unconscious Marcus Flint. The injured man was still wearing his black robe and mask, both of which were covered in dirt and debris.

His left arm was missing just below the elbow. The bleeding had been staunched already, thanks to Pansy's quick work, but the pool of blood on the floor told Ambrose that it had been a narrow thing.

"What the hell happened?" Ambrose said to himself.

oOoOoOoOo

Yaxley had seen Flint engage with someone near the edge of the trees, and moved to follow. The blast of light stopped his progress, however, and when he opened his eyes he saw Flint escape. The left arm, still laying there in the dirt, told him exactly why the boy had fled, though Yaxley suspected the injury would be fatal.

Flint's attacker was on the move, retreating back toward the manor. He still wore an invisibility cloak, though it was filthy enough to be useless. But the sight gave Yaxley pause - who among their enemies had an invisibility cloak?

Certainly not the Bones women.

"Shit," he said to no one. "It's Potter!"

"Potter did this?" exclaimed one of the newer death eaters. "Fuck!" Before Yaxley could stop him, the rookie was stabbing his dark mark with his wand.

Yaxley pulled the death eater's wand hand away from the mark with a crushing grip, but it was too late. "What have you done?" hissed Yaxley angrily.

The young death eater looked up, surprised at the reaction. "Potter's here, the Dark Lord can come and end everything tonight!"

"Yes, the Dark Lord will come, and find half his force laying bleeding or dead." Yaxley stepped closer to the death eater. "The Dark Lord does not reward failure."

"No, Yaxley, I do not." All eyes turned to see the black-cloaked form of Lord Voldemort.

oOoOoOoOo

Madam Bones had taken over the Lord's Study when she became the Regent Bones. The study faced the front courtyard of the manor, allowing Lord Bones to see visitors as they approach the main entrance. The only way in or out - apart from the windows - was a long hallway that bisected the uppermost floor of the manor.

The Colonel was in that hallway, moving old desks and cabinets into some sort of cover, when he heard Amelia's shout from the study.

"They're in the house!" Her voice carried worry and anger in equal measure, and an urgency that saw Mark Ramsay turning and running back to the study.

"Did they get past Harry?" he asked as he entered.

"No." Susan did not look up from her place near the window as she spoke. Ramsay saw that she was tagging another of the death eaters with the laser, while using the scope to watch the battle.

"Then it's the six in back?" Ramsay asked.

"The back door was destroyed," Amelia's voice confirmed. She was still in the back room, working with the wardstone.

Ramsay nodded, his mind working through the scenario as rapidly as it could. Then he was moving back to the hallway. "Susan, you're with me."

Susan put the scope down, but did not move to follow. "I can't leave my Aunt," she said angrily.

"I know," he replied, keeping his voice as even as he could. "But if they get this far, they can simply blast the ward room, and they win. Our only chance is to give her time to work."

Susan cast a quick glance toward the door to the back room, and considered asking her aunt what to do. But then she thought about Harry outside, and what he was doing to the death eaters. She thought about the lessons she had had with the DA, and later with just Harry.

And she knew, with certainty, that Colonel Ramsay was not going to be able to stand against six wizards, no matter how good his muggle tricks were. He needed a wand at his side. Her aunt needed them both to give her the time she needed.

"Alright," she said, turning to the Colonel. "What do we do?"

Ramsay looked at the teenager, as if reappraising her. "We're making a kill zone, Susan," he said, watching her closely. "Anyone who enters that hallway is a target."

Susan nodded. "They're going to kill my family, Colonel," she said, with determination. "Or worse."

"I'm not going to let that happen." Ramsay said.

"I know," she replied. Her eyes met his, and he heard the steel in her voice. "Neither am I."

oOoOoOoOo

Striking from stealth, servicing targets who did not know he was even there, had allowed Harry Potter to take down a dozen death eaters - permanently. Several others had escaped, and two more had attempted to flee before being stunned by their own comrades.

 _To hell with a fair fight,_ he had said earlier. _Their leader tried to kill me as a toddler._ Susan had had no answer to that.

But without that stealth, standing as one wizard versus the remaining half dozen was not good tactics. He was confident in his skills and his training - otherwise he wouldn't be out here. But he wasn't suicidal. So he withdrew as quickly as he could back to Bones Manor.

He had almost made it to the front doors when he heard the metallic clang of locks closing. The shimmer of magic across the door told him that someone had used a locking charm.

"So eager to run away, Mister Potter?" The high voice behind him could only belong to one wizard. Turning, Harry looked at the Dark Lord as he walked calmly across the courtyard.

Pulling off the invisibility cloak, Harry stashed it in its pouch on his belt. His wand remained in his hand, but at his side. As before, every minute he spent letting the Dark Lord monologue was another minute that Amelia had to break the anti-portkey wards and escape.

Looking down, Harry saw blood on Voldemort's bare feet. Unable to resist, he looked at the approaching figure and grinned.

"I think you stepped in one of your mates, Tom." He said, inclining his head toward Voldemort's feet.

Voldemort replied with a sinister grin of his own. "I have so looked forward to killing you, Potter." He tilted his head, his red eyes gleaming in the darkness. "And now I get to do it twice."

"Maybe, maybe not," answered Harry, with as much nonchalance as he could muster.

"They discarded you for your brother, Potter," Voldemort said with a sneer. "And still you fight for them? I knew you were a fool, but that surprises even me."

He did not expect the chuckle that was Harry's reply. "Did you not read the notices, Heir Gaunt? Did you not even take a basic interest in an Ancient and Most Noble House declaring a blood feud on you?" Off the growing anger on Voldemort's face, Harry pressed on. "Where in those notices did I say that I fought for anyone but myself?"

"I have no need to listen to the babbling of a child lord." Voldemort said, dismissively.

"Then you're a fool, Tom Riddle." Harry said, coldly. "You enslaved how many dozens of purebloods to your service?" Harry gestured toward the battlefield. "Do they realize yet that you signed their death warrant?"

"What of you, Potter?" Voldemort spat. "You've hidden behind Dumbledore for years. You can do nothing unless you're behind his robes."

"Dumbledore is many things, Tom." Harry agreed, noticing how the use of the Dark Lord's birth name infuriated him once again. He knew this was a risk, but he had no other option. "But do you know the most important thing about Dumble Dumble Dumbledore, with his fancy hat and Lima Four?"

"What?" Voldemort asked, angrily, ignoring Harry's nonsensical words.

Harry gave the Dark Lord his best grin. "He's not here."

oOoOoOoOo

"Lima Four" said the coins at Ramsay's belt.

"Shit," said Ramsay. "Delta!" he shouted as loud as he could, hoping that his voice reached the study.

Susan heard the sound of the portkey, and nodded to the Colonel, who relaxed a bit. He toppled another cabinet, giving Susan the signal to cast impervious charms on it. This was the third piece of cover they had ready, and each would allow them to fight back when the death eaters came - Ramsay with his pistol and Susan with shields and other jinxes.

"They're upstairs!" came a shout from the entrance hall. The death eaters had heard his signal.

"Here they come," muttered Ramsay. By long habit, he drew his weapon and readied himself.

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort was completely unprepared for the blast of light, and shielded his eyes much as his death eaters had done. The potion exploded above and behind Harry, as that potion had been intended to cover his retreat. Unimpeded, he sent two cutting curses at the Dark Lord.

Even blinded, Voldemort was a master duelist. His wordless shield easily blocked the two curses he hadn't even seen. Then he returned fire with three reductos of his own - one at the spot where Harry's voice had been, and two more on either side. Even without seeing his target, he was trying to catch his dodge.

A shield of Harry's own parried the middle curse, and Harry reminded himself not to underestimate the wizard in front of him.

More curses were exchanged, the banter having ended. Harry focused on quick spells, never casting something complex when a simple spell would do the job. This also helped him cast more rapidly, which worked to keep Voldemort on the defensive as he moved and shielded. Voldemort, for his part, seemed to be casting darker and darker curses at Harry as his frustration mounted. Shielding against such curses took much more energy than usual, which is why they were so dangerous, as they could easily break a shield if one wasn't careful.

Despite himself, Voldemort found himself impressed - the boy was doing much better than he had expected. Of course, that was the idea - for while he was occupied out here, his remaining death eaters would be completing their mission inside the manor. He had, after all, promised Nagini a feast, and the Bones witch and her niece would do nicely.

The Dark Lord sneered again, as he sidestepped another curse. What would young Harry's reaction be when he realized that he had won the battle but lost the war?

oOoOoOoOo

Susan finished with the _aguamenti_ charm just as footsteps began thumping up the staircase. The rug at the end of the hallway was saturated with water, and she hoped that it would allow her to replicate a trick Harry had pulled at DA.

After all, few wizards wore shoes with rubber soles. Fewer still would notice the small bottles of red potion sitting along the wall.

The first pair of death eaters came around the corner, and grinned as they saw their prey. Susan erected a shield as their curses flew, allowing Ramsay to brace himself against an old bookcase and take careful aim downrange.

"Oh, the muggle's gonna fight us? What's he gonna do, you think?" cackled one death eater. Ramsay said nothing, but did adjust his aim to the right.

"Dunno, mate," said the other. "But I know what the girl's gonna do."

Susan must have shown her disgust at the pair, for they laughed at her and stepped forward.

A loud bang came from Ramsay's pistol, accompanied by a brief flame. The only sound that followed was the tinkling noise of a small casing striking the bookcase, and then the wet thud of the first death eater falling to the ground.

When the second death eater looked at his comrade, he saw that the man's head was a ruined mess of blood and gore. He turned back to the muggle, raising his wand, but it was too late.

Again, Ramsay took aim, and again his pistol barked out its report. Three shots in rapid succession struck the death eater, two in the chest and one in the head. Any one of them would have been fatal. He joined his comrade on the ground.

"Sloppy," muttered Ramsay. Susan looked at him, shock still etched onto her face. Seeing her expression, the Colonel shrugged. "You always aim for the biggest target. I should have gotten the first one in the chest."

"Why didn't you?" Susan asked.

Another shrug. "I guess he just made me mad."

The next two death eaters, seeing the corpses, were far more cautious. Without a word, they began peppering the defenders with spellfire. Susan's shield held, but it took more of her effort to keep it up. In turn, Ramsay learned that a _protego_ shield would only deflect a bullet, rather than stopping it. Each shot he fired that struck the shield ended up in the walls.

As the death eaters advanced, Ramsay heard the squishing sound their boots made in the wet carpet. He glanced over at Susan, who nodded, before taking aim at the small potion sitting against the wall. With one shot, the red liquid burst out, throwing sparks of electricity as it splashed. Where it struck the rug, jolts of lightning shot out and struck anything they could.

The corpses, being dead, were unaffected. The death eaters, on the other hand, immediately fell to the ground. Without their shields, they were unable to prevent the Colonel from attacking, and they soon joined their mates.

The final two death eaters saw the bodies, and decided to allow the Dark Lord's familiar to take the lead. Nagini, impatient for her meal, slithered right past the bodies and directly toward the muggle and the child.

Ramsay, who was reloading, looked up at Susan's shouted curse. Seeing the monstrous snake charging right for their position, the Colonel did the only thing he could - he grabbed Susan and threw her to the ground.

Before she could object, the bookcase they had been hiding behind exploded, showering them with splinters of wood. Nagini, not one for subtlety, had blown right through the barrier. Now she was between them and the study, coiled and ready to strike.

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord's familiar, snakes cannot cast shields. Ramsay took careful aim at her head, and unloaded five shots.

Nagini had turned to regard the muggle in his odd clothing, and did not recognize the piece of black metal in the man's hand. It would be a fatal mistake, as a moment later her head was destroyed by gunfire.

Ramsay was unprepared for a black cloud to rise out of the ruined corpse. The spirit form of what had to be the Dark Lord screamed incoherently at them, before vanishing.

"Holy shit," was Ramsay's only reply.

Susan, who had turned back toward the remaining death eaters, said nothing. After a moment, she heard the thumping of footsteps going back down the stairs, and sighed. "They ran," she said.

"For now," he replied.

oOoOoOoOo

Voldemort raised a shield just in time to deflect the knife that the Potter boy had thrown his way. It proved unnecessary, however, as the knife missed him by a wide margin.

Shaking his head disapprovingly, Voldemort looked at the tiring boy in front of him. "You're getting sloppy, Mister Potter."

Harry shrugged at that, catching his breath. He also pulled his wand to his chest, as if yanking on a rope. Voldemort did not notice the odd motion, nor did he notice the knife he had dismissed as it paused in mid-air and flew back towards its owner.

He did see the boy take several steps to his right.

"Sometimes, Tom, the simple tricks are the best ones." Harry replied.

It was at that moment that Voldemort cried out. The returning knife had stabbed him in the back, just below his left shoulder.

Voldemort turned his wand on Harry, the killing curse on his lips. Before he could cast, however, he heard spellfire behind him.

"That will be the aurors, I'd guess," Harry said. "You've failed."

Voldemort ignored the pain in his shoulder as he gave Harry another sneer. "Are you so certain, Mister Potter?" He laughed as Harry's face fell. "You should have done a better job of protecting the Bones woman, boy." With that, he apparated away.

Yaxley managed to escape as well, but the rest of the death eaters were stunned by the attackers. As the newcomers cleared the trees, they saw Harry running toward the manor.

"What the hell is he doing here?" spat James Potter. He looked over to Dumbledore, and saw that the Headmaster didn't know either.

"He was here with Susan," said Sirius Black.

"What, does Amelia's niece go in for murderers, now?" asked Dedalus Diggle. "Look at the bodies, Albus."

"I see, Dedalus," said Dumbledore.

A blast drew their attention to the manor, where Harry had completely destroyed the doors rather than attempt to unlock them. Without pausing, the boy rushed inside, presumably to check on the Bones family.

"This," said Albus Dumbledore, "could be a problem."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Keeping track of all the moving parts in a large battle - even where one side basically has a single fighter - is always a challenge. I am hopeful that I pulled it off here.**

 **The coins used for portkeys are American silver dollars, with President Eisenhower on one side and the Apollo 11 mission patch (with an eagle landing on the moon) on the other. I assume that galleons might be resistant to charms such as portkeys and such, and used muggle coins to dodge that issue. Hermione's DA coins are specifically false galleons, as I recall, but here Harry wanted larger coins that covered most of the potion bottle's opening. And these particular silver dollars are bloody massive, so.**

 **Colonel Ramsay's sidearm is a Sig Sauer P226, favored by (among others) the British Army and SAS. It's not strictly relevant, as such, but if it helps visualize the scene, there are videos on youtube depicting this exact pistol being fired and serviced and whatnot. It is consistent with a British military sidearm in mid 1996, which was my goal.**

 **Pansy has been recovering from her injuries at Rookwood's house, and both have been quiet for a few chapters now. Writing scene-focused chapters, rather than "This all happened in one day" chapters, means that I don't get to check in with everyone - but they'll show up next chapter. As will the Potters and the Order, who clearly have thoughts.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	20. The Mountaintop

Neville Longbottom was the only one still awake when Daisy arrived at Potter Manor that night.

He had spoken with Trevor for about half an hour at Susan's party, and the brothers had come to something of an understanding.

To Neville's surprise, the two were much more alike than he had expected. Being raised by his gran, who had to carry the load on her own, he knew that his childhood had to be vastly different from Trevor's. After all, his brother had had not only his parents, but a best friend in Jamie and a set of godparents in the Potters. In short, he had had everything that Neville had coveted his whole life.

It was clear that Trevor and Jamie were friends - and that Trevor was not just along for the ride because Jamie was supposedly the boy-who-lived or the chosen one or whatever. Later in the day, when Neville had seen Jamie and Trevor bantering back and forth, the exchanges had almost seemed like his interactions with Harry.

So, where did that leave the Longbottoms? Trevor had no idea, as Frank and Alice (and the Potters) tended to meet with the Order most evenings, and the boys were not invited to those meetings - yet. When Trevor had asked what their father planned to do to reconcile the issues within their family, Lord Longbottom had scowled and walked away.

It was disappointing to Neville, that the image of the man he had built over the years had been so inaccurate. But then again, if Frank Longbottom had been the straightforward and honourable man Neville had thought him to be, none of this would have happened in the first place.

Before parting ways, Neville had given Trevor the same warning Harry had delivered to his parents. He placed himself personally at House Potter's side in the blood feud, and told Trevor that he had sworn an oath to that effect. He would not be in a position to tolerate any interference on the part of House Longbottom on that point.

Trevor had asked if he would remove himself from the family, if it came down to it. If pressed, would he choose Harry Potter over his own family?

Neville said nothing. That Neville's response was not an immediate no told Trevor how serious his brother was. Neville had turned out to be nothing like he had been told, and that - even more than the events of their reunion - made him wonder what else his parents had gotten wrong.

They parted amicably, with an agreement to meet at some point before the end of the summer, but the whole conversation weighed on Neville's mind hours later.

He was sitting in his room, looking out at the night sky, when Daisy arrived.

"Death eaters are attacking the Bonses!" she shouted. Neville's eyes snapped to the little elf, already in her uniform. The style and color of the fatigues told him what was happening, and her words nailed down the specifics - Bones Manor was under siege.

"Where's Harry?" Neville asked, standing up and moving to his wardrobe.

"Master Harry and the Colonels are preparing to defend the house. Mistress Susan is helping protect her auntie." Daisy's report was as succinct as she could make it, and it had taken practice to get the elves to speak quickly and clearly when time was of the essence. That didn't stop Neville from smiling to himself at the mention of Mistress Susan.

"Wards?"

"They're blocking everything but elveses. The dark ones are draining the stones from the north, and have more of them to the south to stop a runner," she replied.

Neville laced up his boots as he considered the situation. "How many?" he asked.

"Two dozens attacking from north, six blocking the south." She paused, then popped away. Harry must have called her.

By the time she returned, Neville was combat-ready. He walked out into the hallway, and saw that Ron and Luna had already gotten their gear ready, and were waiting for him.

"Do we call the aurors?" Ron asked, wasting no time.

Neville started to answer, then paused. They knew that at least a few death eaters had infiltrated the DMLE, for what better target was there for an insurgent terrorist force than the nation's law enforcement arm? Harry and Neville had debated this point over and over - could they trust the aurors as a body? It only took one spy to misdirect a message or prevent a deployment, after all.

"Daisy?" Neville asked. The elf appeared after a moment's pause. "Can they get out using the floo?"

"No, Mister Longbottomses," said Daisy.

"What is Harry's plan?" asked Ginny, as she walked up to the group, still pulling on her gloves.

"The Colonels and Harry be setting up a kill zone to the north, Miss Ginny."

"And if we go there, we'll be in the way." said Ron, his expression thoughtful.

The elf nodded vigorously. "Master called it a rich target place, sirs."

"Target rich environment," corrected Hermione, absently. "So we go south."

"We go south, and sweep toward the manor. How close can we get, Daisy?" asked Neville.

Daisy frowned. "A bit further than the back fence here."

Of course, the backyard would be much deeper than the front - Bones Manor was not a large farming estate like some other wizarding manors were. It was simply a large residence, with room for several families. It made sense that the death eaters would put their wards up to match or overlay the existing wards - which meant that they could either show up in the middle of a firefight, getting in Harry's way, or come overland from the rear and surprise the six death eaters held in reserve.

Neville thought for a moment, then nodded. "So, a bit over a mile and a half overland. We can do that."

"Brooms?" asked Ron. They could cover that distance quickly, but brooms would be quicker still.

Hermione answered that question as she walked up, satchel of potions in hand. "They'd see us coming, and warn the others. We need to sneak up on them."

"Agreed," said Neville. He looked around the group, and saw that the others were as ready as they could be. "Last question, do we tell the Order? Or the Aurors?"

Luna grinned back at him. "Why not both?"

oOoOoOoOo

The meeting of the Order that night was uncomfortable at best.

Despite the clear tension between Sirius and James, the Order continued to meet in the basement of Grimmauld Place. Sirius wanted to keep a close eye on the Order, and this gave him the perfect means to do so. Remus and Tonks, both privately disgusted with the Potters, gave him two more sets of eyes and ears in the room - useful when he was not present. Already they had heard grumblings about his dual role as Lord Black and Potter Proxy from James.

Privately, Sirius had made his choice - he would support Harry all the way. Publicly, however, he was taking a more moderate approach, acting cautious but welcoming to the Potters and Longbottoms, even as he served as Harry's proxy in the Wizengamot. Keeping the Order in his home - and under his wards - helped to keep him informed about who was saying what to whom.

Frank and Alice Longbottom had been revealed to the members, much as James and Lily had been weeks before. The reunion was much less of a shock than that of the Potters, for news about the Longbottoms' miraculous recovery had been in the Prophet for the past week. Even so, it was obvious that their reception was muted at best, a fact that seemed to bother James and Dumbledore.

Their son Trevor had been mentioned, but did not attend the meeting - nor did Jamie Potter.

Lily Potter had arrived late, and sat next to Alice in the back of the room. She had been visibly upset about something, though it was unclear what that might be. Her husband had a look of worry when she entered, but said nothing.

Sirius Black also watched her enter, and sighed. He had a pretty good idea what his old friend was upset about, seeing as it was Susan Bones' sixteenth birthday. If James and Lily thought that Susan was still betrothed to Jamie, then today would've been the day for Susan to find out. Harry had not expected them to make a play for the betrothal, but Sirius would put very little past the Potters at this point.

They both trusted Amelia to put Lily in her place, and it appears that she did exactly that.

James and the Headmaster were reading from a list they had made of known death eaters - some new and some old. As they went down the line, Kingsley Shacklebolt interrupted them a surprising number of times.

"That one died in Crawley last week," was a common refrain, right up until James asked him to explain how so many death eaters died in one place at one time.

Kingsley shrugged. "They attacked the home of a half-blood wizard, in force, after breaking his wards. He took exception to that. Shortly after entering, the death eaters triggered a trap of some sort, and fourteen of them were incinerated when the house exploded."

Everyone stared at the auror. Finally, Dedalus Diggle cleared his throat. "And which half-blood wizard owned the house, Kingsley?"

Sirius and Kingsley shared a glance, before the auror replied. "Lord Harry Potter, Dedalus."

"Of fucking course it was," grumbled James.

Dumbledore looked annoyed at the news for the briefest instant, before returning to his calm, passive expression. The change was incredibly subtle, but Sirius and Remus both caught it. Now that they knew what to look for, they knew that Harry had been right about the Headmaster.

The meeting continued, and Sirius noted that a surprising amount of discussion focused on ways to block legislation in the Wizengamot. Several of the remaining dark families were taking advantage of Minister Fudge's continued tenure in office to push through laws that would help Voldemort's cause. Taxes on muggleborns, additional restrictions on creatures, and so forth.

What concerned Sirius was that some of Dumbledore's proposals, always supported by James and Dedalus, would only matter once the war ended. With Voldemort as a threat, was it really necessary to fight changes to tariffs?

An hour into the meeting, Kingsley excused himself, saying that he had been summoned through his auror badge. Dumbledore sighed at the weary faces around the table, and sat back in his chair. "This is as good a stopping place as any, it would seem. Let's take fifteen minutes to refresh ourselves."

The room quickly emptied, leaving only the Headmaster, James, Frank, and Dedalus. Once the basement door closed, Dumbledore smiled. "Alright, boys, you can come out now."

From the far end of the room, behind the training dummies, and Jamie and Trevor appeared. Sheepishly, they walked over to the table and had a seat across from their respective parents.

"That was an impressive disillusionment charm, Mister Potter," Dumbledore said kindly.

"Thank you, sir." was the quiet reply.

The adults regarded the students, and the students in turn regarded the adults. Presently, Dumbledore inclined his head at Jamie. "You have concerns."

Jamie nodded. "I feel like I should be doing more, Headmaster. If I'm to be the Boy Who Lived, I guess I need to know what that means, exactly."

Albus nodded sagely. "It is wise to know what you're walking into, always."

"It's what my mum would do," Jamie replied, not thinking about how many times his mother had been surprised since their return. "Sir, you talked a lot about the Wizengamot, and I wanted to know if we were doing anything to fight Voldemort there, instead of finding his hideouts and learning his plans and so on."

The Headmaster looked closely at the boy, as if evaluating him. _Was the boy ready to know the plan? Could they afford not to tell him? What if Harry got to him first?_

"Jamie, my boy," Albus began. "You have to understand that we are in a war. Do you know what the purpose of war is, Mister Potter?"

Jamie nodded, this had been hammered into him ever since his lessons began to focus on the Ministry and recent history. "War is politics by other means, sir."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, happily. "Exactly right, my boy. In Britain we have the Light families and the Dark families. Some remain neutral, but most follow one or the other of those groups. Now, look at the first war - it was Dark families who followed the Dark Lord, but Light families who opposed him." He leaned forward in his chair, looking closely at Jamie. "In other words, politics by other means."

"And you are the leader of the Light, Headmaster?" interjected Trevor.

Dumbledore nodded. "For now, yes."

Jamie and Trevor shared a glance. "For now, sir?"

Again, Dumbledore nodded. "No one lives forever, my boys. Someday, I will retire and step aside in favor of the younger generation. But I can't do that until I know that the Light will continue to guide Wizarding Britain after I am gone."

"Who would take your place, then?" asked Jamie.

"Oh," mused Dumbledore. "We would need someone whose magic is unquestionably light, who believes in everything that our faction holds dear, and who has spent literally their entire life preparing to fight against the darkness." As he spoke, his twinkling eyes focused on Jamie.

The surprise was clear on Jamie's face. "What?"

Another nod. "Yes, Jamie, when I retire I intend for you to succeed me."

This was nowhere near what Jamie expected to hear, and he couldn't keep the shock out of his voice. "I don't even sit on the Wizengamot, how would I succeed you? That doesn't make sense."

James spoke up. "Once you take the Potter seat, and once you've defeated Voldemort, the nation will rally around you, just as they did the headmaster in the 40's."

 _Harry will love that,_ Jamie thought to himself. He looked at his father, and realized that James had known this part of the plan from the beginning. "You plan to remove Harry from the seat," he said. It was not a question.

"Your seat," James replied, calmly.

Jamie looked from the Headmaster to his father, and back. "You want to remove the Lord of my house, to install my father, and eventually myself, in a seat on the Wizengamot."

James sighed. "He's no Lord, Jamie. It's a fluke of magic that he holds the ring."

"Dad, for better or worse, he _does_ hold that ring." He looked at his father, shaking his head. "After your last encounter with the family magic, are you really eager to test him again so soon?"

 _This is not going where it needs to,_ thought Dumbledore. "Jamie, my boy, Harry took up the Lordship as a means to an end. Nothing more."

Jamie stared at the Headmaster. Were they talking about the same Harry Potter? "Based on everything I've seen and heard since coming back, he is fighting for the Light, sir."

"So he says," Dumbledore allowed. "But young Harry is fighting to end this war, and that is all. Once you have ended it for him, he will be free to live a normal life." The grandfatherly smile had returned, and Dumbledore's voice was calm and reassuring. "But there will still be work to be done."

Jamie finally put the pieces together. "You're not working on winning just this war," he said, almost in a whisper.

"No, my boy," replied Dumbledore. "Harry wants to win the war? Fine, let him try. Even the Dark is focused on taking power by force. But we know how important it is that Wizarding Britain be guided by the Light. While they scramble to end this battle, we are setting the stage for winning all future battles."

"You want to win the peace," said Trevor, amazed at the audacity of the plan. "That's why we hid, isn't it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "When the dust settles, the Light will again have saved this nation from itself. And the wizard they will have to thank for it is you, Jamie. When you ascend to the leadership of the Wizengamot, you will stand at the beginning of a golden age for Wizarding Britain." His eyes twinkled as he spoke, pride in his voice. "That golden age will be built, led, and controlled by the Light. Maybe for a century, if you handle things correctly."

"And you'll be there to tell me how to handle things correctly, won't you?" asked a very quiet Jamie, wondering who would answer.

James smiled indulgently. "Of course, Jamie, we will never abandon you."

Jamie was proud of his control, in that moment, for he did not look up to glare at his father. _Of course you won't abandon me, you already did that to Harry and see how it turned out._

That thought brought another question to mind. "Harry said that being the boy-who-lived had been difficult, that he was alternately praised and hated, most of the time for reasons beyond his control." Jamie looked at his father, searchingly. "How do we know that that won't happen to me?"

James and Dumbledore shared a look, before the Headmaster spoke in a quiet voice. "Jamie, your brother is a complex young man. He has the capacity for great good, but just as great is his potential for darkness. His schoolmates have seen some of this, and that is why he has had his… difficulties, I suppose you might say."

"He's my twin, sir," said Jamie. "Would I not have that same potential? In either direction?"

James shook his head. "You've spent close to fifteen years dedicated to being the best light wizard you can be. Between that single-minded focus and your inevitable defeat of the dark lord, there is no one who could question your place as Leader of the Light."

Trevor could hear the capital letters in the title, and the reverence with which Jamie's father used the term. Glancing over at Jamie, he could see that his friend's expression was very carefully neutral - but that his body language spoke of great uncertainty. _No surprise, there_ , he thought.

"And Harry…" Jamie's voice trailed off at the pained look on James' face.

"Harry isn't suitable for this, Jamie." His father ground out the statement without the usual anger that accompanied any mention of his older son, but the tension in the man was present nonetheless.

"For any number of reasons, my boy, it has to be you." Dumbledore said.

Jamie nodded, as if accepting the burden. He hoped against hope that none of the adults could sense the turmoil of his emotions in that moment. "This is a lot to take in, Headmaster," he said quietly.

Dumbledore nodded, his entire demeanor radiating good humor. "Of course, Jamie, of course. We all understand that. Why don't you and Trevor head upstairs and have some refreshments, while we finish up down here."

"Of course," Jamie said, and the boys stood. "Thank you for being honest with me, Headmaster."

That brought a smile to Dumbledore's face. "No, Jamie, thank you."

oOoOoOoOo

In the Lord's study, Sirius Black looked across his desk at Remus Lupin. Between them, the mirror continued to show the training room, where now the Headmaster was speaking quietly with Dedalus. Frank and James had left, presumably to get something to eat with the others.

Without warning, the mirror cut out. Remus glanced down at it, wondering what had happened.

Sirius, however, just shrugged. "One of them mentioned something that is hidden under _Fidelius_. The mirror can't pass it along unless we're all in on the secret, which we're clearly not. So it shuts off."

"I think we've heard enough, don't you?" Tonks growled from across the room. She was pacing angrily, her hair a bright shade of red.

"Oh yes," replied Sirius. "We've heard plenty."

"Harry's going to lose his mind over this," Remus observed.

"The instant James slapped Harry, they were on a collision course. It was only a matter of time." Sirius shook his head sadly. "This doesn't sound like the James we knew at all."

Remus looked uncomfortable at that. "I'm not so sure." Off Sirius' look, he continued. "I mean, he always talked about using the Potter vote to combat the dark, didn't he? I figured he'd work with his father, but then the war escalated and before we knew it the Potters were dead or in hiding." He sighed heavily. "All this seems too much, though. Hiding for fifteen years, leaving Harry, you, all of it - just to take over for Dumbledore?"

"Don't forget the Longbottoms, either," added Tonks, still pacing. "James gets power, what do they get?"

"Trevor Longbottom would be the trusted right hand of the chosen one," Sirius replied, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Where a Potter goes, a Longbottom follows."

"I haven't spent much time with the kid," said Tonks, "But that doesn't sound like him, exactly."

"No, it doesn't," agreed Sirius. "That was something Neville said to Harry, when they decided to start their training."

Remus started to say something, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. He met Sirius' eyes, and gave him a quizzical look. "Time already?"

"No," said Sirius. Raising his voice, he called out to the visitor. "Come!"

At his word, the door unlocked, and a worried Kingsley Shacklebolt entered.

He did not wait for preliminaries, but dove right into his report. "Bones Manor is under attack."

Sirius and Remus both stood. "What happened?"

Kingsley held up the mirror. "Tell them what you told me, Neville."

oOoOoOoOo

"How certain is this, Mister Longbottom?" asked Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The boy's face certainly looked serious - or as serious as a small face can look when shown in a handheld mirror delivered by an elf. But if there were an attack on the Director, Kingsley would have expected an all-hands alert, and there had been none.

On the other hand, Neville had been able to signal Kingsley through his badge - something that Director Bones must have arranged, probably in support of Harry. She had not instructed him to breach protocol to assist Lord Potter and his team, but it was clear that their activities had her tacit approval. When Kingsley had stepped out to answer the message, an elf had appeared and handed him the mirror - and there had been the face of Neville Longbottom.

So, for now, he'd listen.

"It's confirmed, Mister Shacklebolt," Neville replied, keeping his tone in line with a junior auror reporting in. The formal address reinforced that impression, and made him that much more likely to listen - which was probably why the boy had used it. "We have word from Harry via an elf. Two dozen death eaters attacking from the north, another six at the south blocking the back exit. They were hammering the wards as of five minutes ago, but by now the wards have probably fallen."

"Madam Bones has a protective detail." replied Kingsley. "Why haven't they reported in? Their badges will work through pretty much any wards."

Neville looked pained. "They would, sir, if one of the two aurors on duty hadn't been a death eater. He killed his partner, and then made an attempt on the Director."

Kingsley's eyes grew wide. "Did she survive?"

"She did," Neville reported. "She was meeting in her study with the Muggle Liaison to the DLME at the time. He assisted her in neutralizing the threat." No one noticed the brief glance Sirius and Remus shared at the mention of a muggle, both knowing exactly which muggle it had to be.

"Awfully late for a business meeting," Kingsley remarked. A very few muggles were legally allowed to know about magic, usually those who had direct contact with the Ministry. It was unusual for one to meet with their opposite number at a wizarding home - unusual, but not impossible.

Neville shrugged, saying nothing. Harry still didn't want Colonel Ramsay's relation to House Potter known, if at all possible. The Prime Minister had given them the perfect cover when he officially informed the Colonel about magic, and they would use that cover as long as they could.

Kingsley looked to Sirius and Remus. "If we can't trust the aurors, then that leaves the order - and we just happen to be meeting right now."

There was no time to debate the matter, and Neville had to act quickly. Even with a plan and surprise, Harry could not hold out forever. They needed to get him some support. "I don't like it, but if the Order is able to help, we could use you."

Tonks walked back into the study, wearing her auror robes. "Kings, the attack is happening as we speak, right?" Off Kingsley's nod, she continued. "And Neville said that their Floo was disconnected?" Another nod.

Sirius' eyes widened at the prospect. "You want to raid the Floo office."

"We'll never have a better shot," she replied. "We always find out hours later, when everything is back to normal and the duty team has 'fixed' the problem. But if we can catch them in the act…" her voice trailed off as Kingsley grinned.

"I'm in," he said. "We have two dozen order members here, they can back Harry's play. But the Order can't check on the Floo office."

Remus got it now. "Whereas two aurors can."

"Exactly."

oOoOoOoOo

In the basement, only two Order members remained.

"I wonder," began Dedalus Diggle, "if we should not have just left the Potters and Longbottoms at Falcon's Rest for a while longer."

Dumbledore hoped he did not look as tired as he felt, but the events of the summer so far had been taxing. "The Ministry attack was the perfect moment, Dedalus," he said. "It was not as we planned, but it served our needs."

"Mostly," the old wizard said, looking over his glasses at the Headmaster.

"Mostly," Dumbledore allowed.

"And young Mister Potter," Dedalus continued. "Do you think he will be the one we need?"

Dumbledore looked over to his friend, and nodded. There was only one Mister Potter that mattered, after all. "We have spent fifteen years shaping Jamie into the perfect Light wizard. Every lesson, every exercise, every interaction, has built to this moment."

"No one knows that better than I, Albus," Diggle said, without heat.

This was an old argument between them. The Headmaster had always played the long game, and risked planning too far ahead. His ultimate battle against Grindelwald, for example, could have happened years earlier had different choices been made early in the war. Diggle always looked for a better way, which usually meant a quicker way.

Every day that the war continued, witches and wizards died. Ending it with haste was in everyone's interest, no matter which side of the war they served.

"Then you should keep the faith, my old friend," said Dumbledore, his voice once again filled with calm confidence. "James Potter, Junior, will be the ideal weapon of the Light."

"We can only hope," Diggle replied. Then he had a thought that brought a look of concern to his face. "Albus, will Hogwarts be safe this term? With both Potters vying for position?"

"Of course," the Headmaster said, nodding. "This is your granddaughter's first year, isn't it?"

Diggle nodded. "I won't have her in the crossfire between James and Harry." He did not mention _which_ James he meant, for he did not know what James senior would do once Harry was safely in the castle and away from the war.

The door to the basement opened, surprising both men. The Headmaster's privacy and locking charms should have prevented that - but then they saw Sirius Black, and knew that he had invoked the house's own wards to bypass the Headmaster's charms.

One look at Sirius' face, and they knew something had happened.

"Bones Manor is under attack," reported the Lord Black.

oOoOoOoOo

Harry Potter had not heard the Order approach from the north, had not cared who was responding to the attack. All he knew was that Voldemort had struck at Susan and Amelia while he was busy dueling.

After all of this, to lose either of them - or both! - was utterly unthinkable. Harry sprinted into the manor with his wand out and a promise of death for anyone who stood between him and the Bones family.

Before he could make it to the staircase, he heard boots entering the rear of the manor. His wand came up, preparing to strike, before he heard the voices of the intruders.

"Friendly!" shouted Neville Longbottom. It was an unmistakable word, and not one that the enemy would be likely to know to use. Neville had heard the blast that took out the front door, and knew Harry was coming - and he knew that Harry would be in a mood to shoot first and ask questions later.

"Friendly!" replied Harry, automatically. "Upstairs study, Amelia and Susan and the Colonel were up there." Without slowing, he started taking the stairs two at a time.

"Were?" asked Ginny.

"Be ready for anything," Neville said, as the team moved to follow.

oOoOoOoOo

When Albus Dumbledore and several members of the Order of the Phoenix entered Bones Manor, they found Harry Potter sitting at the bottom of the grand staircase, one arm around Susan Bones. The other arm was being tended to by Ginny Weasley, of all people. Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley were standing nearby, wands out, as if they expected more death eaters to attack.

Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood were levitating five fallen death eaters down to the ground floor. Rather than force everyone to move off of the stairs, they were simply lowering the bodies down off of the landing. Dumbledore did not get a close enough look at the bodies to identify them, but he could clearly see that all four were quite dead - killed by piercing hexes of some sort.

When coupled with the bodies strewn across the front lawn of Bones Manor, it painted a picture of a brutal fight.

The wound on Harry's shoulder was further evidence of the battle. The boy's shoulder had a gash across it, and the skin surrounding the wound was already purpling.

"A dark curse, Harry," Dumbledore said.

Harry looked up, as if seeing the Headmaster for the first time. Then he chuckled. "Yeah. Hurts pretty bad, too."

"Who got you?" asked Sirius. He wanted to walk over and take care of his godson, but knew that he had to keep his distance - at least, when the Order was involved.

"I stepped left when I should have stepped right," Harry answered. "Tom got a lucky shot."

Dumbledore shared a glance with Dedalus Diggle at that comment. _Voldemort was here?_

"Fortunately," continued Harry, "I managed to tag him as well."

"Did the knife trick work?" asked Luna, who was still helping Hermione move the bodies from upstairs.

"Sure did," said Harry, giving the ravenclaw a smile. "I wonder how Tom will deal with the present we left for him."

"What present?" asked James Potter, clearly annoyed at not knowing what was happening.

Harry looked at his father, and the smile faded from his face. "We treated a set of throwing knives with basilisk venom, Mister Potter."

"You took an enormous risk with that, Harry," said Dumbledore.

"Not really," replied Harry, coolly, "Seeing as how I seem to be immune to basilisk venom, thanks to Slytherin's Beast from second year."

"Still," said Dumbledore, before trailing off. He hadn't known about the side effects of a basilisk wound mixed with phoenix tears, but he should have. _If Tom dies now, he'll just become a spirit again. The boy may have ruined everything!_

"Why didn't you call the aurors?" asked James.

Harry pointed at one of the bodies, now laid out in one corner of the entrance hall. When the Order members looked, they saw the auror robes. "Because the night started with that auror - who was a marked death eater, I should add - executing his partner, and then attempting to kill Madam Bones."

Sirius, who already knew this, watched James and the Headmaster for their reactions. Both were surprised at the revelation that death eaters had penetrated the DMLE. It almost made him want to shake his head - what other department made more sense as a target, if you were Voldemort? All that work James and Dumbledore had spent trying to figure out who wore the mark, and there was at least one they knew nothing about standing next to the Director of the DMLE.

"And the floo was shut down, I suppose?" commented Diggle.

"We're working on that," said Remus, getting looks from James and Dumbledore.

Before anyone could ask what he meant, the flames in the fireplace turned bright green. All eyes turned to the now working floo, only to see Kingsley and Tonks step out.

"We were right," Kingsley said, carefully not mentioning if he was reporting to Dumbledore or Harry. "The night crew in the floo office was made up of two wizards, both wearing the mark."

"Merlin," said Diggle, shock on his face.

Harry took in the look of surprise on the face of the old wizard, and then saw the same surprise on the face of the Headmaster. "Wait a minute, you mean to tell me that no one thought to check the floo office when attacks like this one keep happening? Where the floo just happens to shut itself off _right_ when there's an attack?"

"There's only so much that can be done, Harry…" began Dumbledore.

Possibly for the first time in his life, Kingsley interrupted the Headmaster. "Actually, Tonks and I came up with the plan when we learned of the attack here, Albus." He shared a look at Tonks, before continuing. "We thought it might be our best shot at catching them in the act."

"And it was."

All eyes turned to the staircase, where Madam Amelia Bones was walking down slowly, a large sack floating behind her. Harry was relieved to see that the Colonel was not in evidence - he would have been portkeyed away before the Headmaster or Minister could find him at the scene of a death eater attack. All agreed that his involvement should be kept secret as long as possible.

If asked, Amelia would claim that she sent him home before the shooting began.

Once she reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked at the Headmaster. The Headmaster, in turn, looked back. Neither was willing to break the silence, so in the end it was Dedalus Diggle who spoke first.

"Do you have any thoughts on Mister Potter's murder spree out front, Madam Bones?" Diggle asked.

Amelia arched an eyebrow at that. "I'd say that I was disappointed, Lord Diggle, simply because a few of them managed to get away."

James Potter had had enough, at this point. "He can't just be allowed to kill people and get away with it!"

Harry kissed Susan on the forehead, and then stood up. No one missed the gesture. He walked toward the Order members, considering how to respond. Everyone in the entrance hall seemed to hold their breath in anticipation.

Before he could speak, however, the fireplace glowed green once more, and Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the floo. Aurors Dawlish and Hightower followed him, their wands out.

The Minister was just about to begin blustering when Amelia's voice called out, silencing him. "Dawlish! Hightower! Show me your left arms." When both turned to look at her, she showed her wand. "Now!"

Dawlish revealed his bare forearm, having figured out what she was after. Hightower glared at her.

"How dare you accuse me of being a death eater!" he snarled at his Director. He did not have a chance to say anything further, for at that moment Tonks stunned him. When he crumpled to the floor, Shacklebolt pulled up the man's sleeve, showing no dark mark.

"He's clean," announced Shacklebolt. "Just an idiot."

"What is the meaning of this?" shouted Minister Fudge.

"The meaning of this, Minister, is that one of the aurors on my protection detail was a marked death eater. He killed his partner and tried to kill me." She gestured at the dead auror in the corner. "I wanted to make sure your protection was what it should be, and it seems that it is."

"Oh, well," he muttered. As he took in the sight of the five dead bodies, Fudge paled noticeably. "I was told there was an attack?"

Amelia nodded. "Thirty death eaters attacked, Minister, as well as the dark lord himself."

"Oh, oh my," whimpered Fudge.

"Lord Potter was here visiting with my niece, and graciously assisted in our defense." Amelia continued. "He delayed the main force out front, while I worked on bringing down the anti-portkey wards."

"Delayed?" James Potter scoffed. "He slaughtered them, is what he did."

Fudge looked at Harry Potter, who clearly had been in some sort of battle. "How many did you kill, Mister Potter?"

Harry looked evenly at the Minister. "I believe I am responsible, directly or indirectly, for over a dozen kills out front. Maybe more."

"Is that bragging I hear, Harry?" sneered James.

Harry turned to his father. "Mister Potter, I was defending the lives of my betrothed and her guardian, as well as conducting a defensive action against wizards with whom our House has a declared blood feud." His voice rose as his eyes bored into James, who involuntarily took a step back. "This is a matter of House Honour, a subject about which you know sweet fuck all, so if you please, **be silent**!"

The last two words seemed to have a power of their own, carrying Harry's authority as Lord Potter. Whatever angry retort James had prepared died on his lips, and the best he could muster was an angry glare at his son.

The tension broke when Fudge managed to croak out another question.

"How do you know that Lord… well, you know, _him…_ I mean…" His voice trailed off when he saw the impatient look on Harry's face.

"I dueled him outside, Minister Fudge," said Harry.

"And his familiar attacked Susan and I," continued Amelia.

Dumbledore paled. Nagini had been the last horcrux, if his theory was correct. "Did the snake escape?"

Amelia's eyes narrowed, and she flicked her wand at the large sack that had settled behind her. It upended itself, dumping the corpse of Nagini onto the marble floor.

"Ah," whimpered the Minister.

Harry ignored Fudge, focusing his attention on James and the Headmaster. He saw the worried look they shared, and his eyes narrowed. Then he remembered his reunion with the Potters at Grimmauld Place, where they had discussed the idea that the dark lord had made horcruxes. He remembered that James and Sirius had agreed with his theory that Nagini was one of the horcruxes - perhaps the last, if Dumbledore's theory that Voldemort had made three was accurate.

Perhaps Voldemort was now mortal.

It was obvious that Dumbledore had come to the same conclusion from his reaction to the ruined corpse of the snake. Then the Headmaster turned, and saw that Harry had seen that reaction. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed for an instant, as if he had been caught giving away information, before he went back to his usual grandfatherly demeanor. The act was wasted on Harry, now that he could see through it - but he wasn't about to tell Dumbledore that fact.

For a brief instant, he worried about his brother. If Voldemort was indeed mortal, would Jamie get deployed as the 'boy-who-lived'? Would he be prepared?

Would the adults in his brother's life protect him, like they never had protected Harry?

"Cornelius," began Amelia, in her Director Bones voice. It was a clear signal that she was taking command of the situation, and that she didn't care what anyone else thought.

"Yes, Amelia?" Fudge asked, turning his still pale features in her direction.

"I'm going to have my aurors interview the captured death eaters tomorrow, before we ship them off to the continent." She gestured at Harry, who had kept his eyes on the Headmaster. "I'll also have someone interview Mister Potter, so that we have an accurate picture of what happened tonight."

"The dead…" began the Headmaster, but Amelia cut him off with a glare.

"The dead are all marked, Albus," she said, her tone harsh, as if she was annoyed at having to explain the situation. "Even if he was not acting on my behalf as Lady of the Manor, or Regent Bones, or as guardian of his betrothed, you know as well as I that the blood feud excuses everything he did tonight. He was under direct attack by the other party to the feud. Legally, you cannot touch him."

Now it was Fudge who glared briefly at the DMLE Director, causing Harry's eyes to narrow. A glance told him that Neville had seen it too. _Fudge may be a problem,_ he thought.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was again the one who broke the tension. "I believe we can take it from here, Director," he said. "You should get some rest."

"Potter Manor is open to you, Amelia," said Harry. "Until your wards are back to 100%, you and Susan are welcome." He ignored the renewed glare from James as he spoke.

Amelia looked to her niece, and got the nod she had expected. With a smile, she nodded to Harry. "You are gracious, Lord Potter. Of course we accept."

"Good," Harry replied. "Dobby!"

Dobby appeared, still wearing his fatigues. Harry ignored the looks the elf got from the Order members still present, and spoke directly to the Elf. "Everyone back to base, Dobby, plus Amelia and Susan."

The elf gave him a salute, before popping away. Amelia and Susan were taken first, followed by Neville, Ron, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione. Harry was the last, and he offered the Order a wave before he, too, had vanished.

Fudge made his excuses and left as well, taking the floo. Soon, it was just the aurors and a few of the Order members who remained. Dumbledore looked to Dedalus Diggle, and sighed.

"I was right," he said quietly. "This is a problem."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **This chapter shows us a bit of the aftermath of the battle, as well as where our other players were during the action. I'm the sort of writer who lets readers carry some of the load, and thus the timeline isn't called out in a hatnote or whatever - but I think it's pretty clear what is happening when. It turns on Harry rushing to Susan and Amelia - and Ramsay, who gets out of dodge before questions can be asked.**

 **As I noted to one reader, it _has_ been a rather busy summer, hasn't it? We're over 100k into this story (!) and it isn't even August yet. After all of this, it will be nice for everyone to get some quiet time at school, where nothing exciting happens, right?**

 **Thank you again to Grimjaw for giving these chapters the sanity checks they need to make sense.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


	21. The Morning After

As sunlight began to filter into the guest bedroom, Marcus Flint finally woke. When his eyes opened, he found Ambrose Rookwood performing diagnostic charms on his mutilated arm.

"No healing that, I take it?" Flint asked, weakly.

Ambrose looked up at him, and shook his head regretfully. It was all the confirmation Flint needed, and he let his head sink back into the pillows.

"How are you feeling, Flint?" Ambrose asked his friend.

Marcus Flint closed his eyes. "Like I had my fucking arm lopped off, if you must know."

"You almost lost a kidney as well, Flint," said Ambrose, quietly. "I think you stepped to the side just in the nick of time."

Flint felt a bandage on his side shifting, and realized that Rookwood was right - he had gotten clipped by that cutting hex. He hadn't even noticed it, in the heat of battle.

"Who got you?" asked Ambrose, as he checked the dressing on Flint's side.

Flint opened his eyes and saw Ambrose's intense look. It took Flint only a moment to understand the question - his emergency portkey brought him here, which meant he had been attacked, or that he had been the one attacking. Even if he hadn't been wearing his mask and hood, it meant that the Death Eaters were on the move. Knowing who had taken Flint's arm would tell Ambrose Rookwood damn near everything he might want to know about who was being attacked - and, from that, why.

"You're scary, mate," said Flint, with a sigh.

"So I'm told," replied Rookwood, drily. "Who got you?" he asked again.

Another sigh escaped Flint. "Potter."

"Ah," said Rookwood, nodding to himself.

"That's it, Rookwood? Just 'Ah,'?"

Ambrose shrugged. "He's escalating, but I can't say I didn't expect it from a Gryffindor." _Not after Dad,_ Ambrose continued in his mind.

Now it was Flint who shook his head. "We attacked Director Bones," began Flint.

His host was silent, torn between the demands of the moment. On the one hand, he craved information, and this news hadn't even made the morning's _Prophet_. Knowing the details was important, but knowing them before anyone else was where Rookwood's father had truly made a name for himself. Ambrose was no different.

On the other hand, though, was the fact that Flint was essentially revealing details about Voldemort's plans and activities. He had told Flint that he supported the Dark Lord's cause, and in general that still held true. But his faith had been shaken by the attack on Pansy Parkinson - an attack from her own uncle, no less. All for a vote and some galleons.

He knew that people acted irrationally, but what had been done to Pansy - and, worse, what had been threatened - was beyond anything he could agree with. If this was the role planned for him when he took the mark, then his decision to delay was possibly the best one he could have made.

So he did the easy thing, the thing his father probably would have done in his place. He stayed silent, and gathered intelligence.

Flint laid out the attack on Bones Manor. He described the blinding flashes of light, the attacks from reinforcements who weren't there. The revealed invisibility cloak following a massive explosion, and the brief duel with Potter that followed.

Even without knowing what happened after Flint escaped, it was not hard to see that Harry Potter had changed the nature of the war. The death eaters, once they lost half their number, should have escaped and attempted to preserve at least some of their forces, but they couldn't - not without incurring the wrath of the Dark Lord. So they pressed on, and nearly doubled their losses. Not the sort of wisdom he had associated with the Dark Lord, if the stories of his father had been anything to go on.

When he finally spoke, Ambrose asked how many effectives Flint still had on side when he escaped. The pale shock on his friend's face told Flint everything he needed to know.

"How many stood with Potter, then?" asked Ambrose.

Flint shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around something that had not even occurred to him in the heat of battle.

"I…. I don't know."

The two sat in silence for a few minutes, each lost to their thoughts, before Flint hissed in pain. Looking down at the stump of his arm, he saw an angry red burn peeking out from the bandages.

Ambrose understood without being told - Pansy had guessed about it the night before. "He's summoning you."

Flint nodded. "I have to go."

"Of course," said Ambrose, absently. "Make sure you have a proper healer look at that," he advised, indicating the arm.

"I will," said Flint. "Pansy did a good job on it, though. I'll be fine."

The empty potion vial Ambrose had been carrying fell from his hand, smashing itself on the floor.

Flint gave his friend a serious look. "I was bleeding to death, and delirious. But I still remember her, Rookwood." Now his eyes found his host's, and Flint willed Ambrose to _understand_ what he was saying - for it was the only warning he could give. "I can have no secrets from the Dark Lord. You know that."

Ambrose nodded once at his friend - the message had been received. _They will come for her._

oOoOoOoOo

When she awoke, it took a moment for Amelia Bones to recall the events at Bones Manor. Then her eyes fell on the crest of House Potter emblazoned on the wall, and she remembered. The sight of her niece still peacefully sleeping did nothing to calm the fresh wave of anger she felt as she thought about the battle.

In one stroke, the House of Bones could have been wiped out. It would be impossible for her to ever forgive the events of the previous night.

 _Previous night, hell,_ she thought, bitterly. _If it's still as early as it seems, then the whole battle was just hours ago._

She did not waste time, wanting to see what - if anything - had been reported, both in the _Prophet_ and within the DMLE. She wanted to know what the captured death eaters told her aurors. She _definitely_ wanted to know the names of the dead.

But above all else, she wanted a cup of coffee.

It was the smell of that much-needed beverage that drew her to the kitchen, and the last person she expected to find in the home of an Ancient and Most Noble house.

Colonel Ramsay looked up as she paused in the doorway. He was in uniform, drinking a cup of coffee and reading the muggle newspaper. With a shock, she realized that it was Monday morning - he would be on his way to his muggle job before long.

He raised his mug toward her, and gave her a cheeky grin. "'Morning," he said.

Amelia could not help but grin right back at him. "Good morning, Colonel," she said, greeting him with mock formality. Pouring herself a coffee of her own, she took the seat across from him. "Busy day for you, then?"

He nodded. "I get to brief the top brass about last night, which should be as delightful as it sounds."

She frowned at that. "Who are you briefing?"

"Brigadier General Miles Warren. He is the top officer in Her Majesty's Army who is authorized to know about magic, and advises Number 10 on the subject. I've been told to report in with him whenever anything major happens." Ramsay had a serious look on his face as he spoke. "Actually, it was General Warren who suggested letting me in on the secret, after he found out that the neighbor kid I had been mentoring was actually the boy-who-lived."

"Interesting," she said, sipping her coffee. She wondered how the General had learned about Harry. Perhaps the General was a squib, or had a magical relative somewhere in the family?

"How are you feeling?"

Amelia turned her eyes to the Colonel, and saw the look of concern on his features. Part of her was surprised, but only a small part. The two had bonded during their evening together, even before the battle - and shared danger has its own way of bringing people together. For good or ill, the two of them had taken up the task of helping Harry plan a war, and both had found - to their delight - that they worked well together.

Belatedly, Amelia remembered that she had promised to go to lunch with him today. She smiled at the thought, which got a smile from him in return.

"Well enough to keep our dinner meeting, Colonel," she said with a smirk.

oOoOoOoOo

Cornelius Fudge collapsed into his chair as the door to his office closed with a slam.

The morning had been exhausting, with reports and meetings about the previous night's battle. Even knowing that You-Know-Who was actually back had not prepared him for an actual attack on a Ministry department head. Fudge had no love for Amelia Bones, true, but it mattered little when the death eaters were willing to attempt to assassinate her.

 _That could have been me,_ his mind screamed.

Part of him knew that his allies would not discard him, for he worked hard to remain valuable to them. But those allies were thin on the ground these days, with Lucius still in ICW custody. Lord Malfoy's imprisonment had a ripple effect, and suddenly Cornelius had a much harder time contacting his usual supporters - a worrying sign.

John Parkinson had been his saving grace, these last few days. Where Lord Malfoy's support had disappeared, the newly-minted Regent Parkinson was able to step in. All Fudge had to do was what he had been doing for years - listen to some 'friendly' advice now and again, and act as he saw fit.

It had been Parkinson who pointed out that one of the reports from Bones Manor mentioned a muggle being present. The idea was offensive to Parkinson, for it meant that the regent of a noble house was consorting with muggles as if she were some sort of blood traitor. The muggle had not been on the scene when the aurors arrived, or else he might have been taken into custody while his presence was 'investigated'.

Fudge didn't much care about the fact that a muggle had been there. What did bother him was that the muggle had status as one of the few who - officially - knew about magic. He had been listed as the Muggle Liaison to the muggle armed forces, which told Fudge that Madam Bones was reaching out to the muggles for assistance.

His hold on the office of Minister was weaker than it ever had been, these days. If one of his department heads had to go to the muggles for assistance? No, that would not look good at all.

Fortunately, that was a problem he could deal with.

Decision made, Fudge stood up and walked out of his office. For this, he'd need help.

oOoOoOoOo

That morning, Jamie Potter and Trevor Longbottom had breakfast in Trevor's room at Longbottom Hall.

Trevor had had the same room for nearly his entire life, when he lived in his family's cottage at Falcon's Rest. Moving into a new room, even if it was in his family's ancestral home, was a strange experience. There had already been a room set aside for him, but one look at it told him that it would be a mistake to choose that one.

It was the Longbottom elves who explained what had happened. Augusta Longbottom, once she had mourned her grandson, had ordered the bedroom next to the nursery closed and sealed. Before the attack in 1981, the Longbottoms had planned for Neville and Trevor to have adjoining bedrooms as they grew up together - so the nursery had been set up in what would have become Neville's room. Even when the boys outgrew their shared room, they would still be close to each other - just one door away.

Trevor's crib, his toys, and his clothes had all been moved to the second bedroom, almost as a shrine to the slain toddler. The elves told Trevor that Augusta had never visited the room, but that Neville had snuck in just once, when he was five. That incident had led a tearful Augusta to sit Neville down and tell him the tale of his lost brother.

It was another sign to Trevor that his grandmother would not be as forgiving as his parents had hoped.

So it was that Trevor Longbottom decided to take one of the guest bedrooms down the hall from his brother's. The elves got a description of his old room from his mother, and quickly redecorated the space to make it seem more like home - which, in a way, it was.

They had even added a comfortable couch, just like he had had at Falcon's Rest. The Potters had lived in a cottage less than a thousand feet away from the Longbottoms, but that didn't stop Jamie from sleeping over in Trevor's room, and vice versa. When they did, each would invariably end up sleeping on the other's couch.

It was a little touch of home that Jamie had appreciated the night prior, as both boys had been exhausted when they arrived at Longbottom Hall. Even then, in the comfort of Trevor's new room, neither of them could keep their minds off of the conversation they had had with the Headmaster.

The topic did not come up until they had finished their breakfast. Jamie sat back on the couch, the old familiar look of worry having returned.

Trevor smiled at his friend. "I know that look," he said. "Spit it out, mate, what are you thinking?"

Jamie gave his host a tired grin. "I think we're in over our heads, Longbottom," he replied.

Trevor scoffed at that. "How is that different from any other time, though?"

"Yeah, maybe," conceded Jamie. "But that was sneaking out to the wardline, or skipping training to fly. This is all… it's too big, Trev."

"It's not like they're wanting to make you the crown prince of the Light or anything," teased Trevor. Jamie responded to that by tossing a pillow, which Trevor dodged with a laugh.

Jamie took a moment to collect his thoughts before he continued. "The plan was always that we'd come back to fight Voldemort," he said. "We'd have a coalition of Light families, not to mention the Order itself, as well as our brothers at our sides, and with the weight of both fate and a prophecy behind us. We've trained for it, we know what we're up against. It'd be hard, but it's my job, and I know I can get it done."

"All true," agreed Trevor.

Jamie stood and began pacing. "So we came back. But except for the few shots I got to fire off at the Dark Lord, literally nothing has gone to plan. The Order isn't sure what to think about the whole 'faking our deaths' thing, and we haven't even announced our return to the rest of the Light families. Dad has already alienated Harry, who is as we speak taking the fight to the death eaters - just like we thought we would be doing."

"Neville seems willing to give us a chance," Trevor remarked.

Jamie rolled his eyes. "Maybe so, but that's a long bloody way from standing with his parents." He looked at Trevor, and sighed. "And lest we forget, our parents let your Gran think that you were dead and they were basically comatose for a decade and a half."

That got a sigh from Trevor. "You didn't hear the patronus she sent, Jamie. She tried to summon Neville, but she sent it to her grandson. And it came to me as well." He shook his head, part of him still disbelieving. "I still don't get that, she thought I was dead."

"She did," Jamie agreed. "But you were still in her thoughts. Magic is intent, you know that."

"Yeah, I do." Trevor said, quietly.

Jamie nodded, but said nothing. Trevor watched his friend pace the room, knowing that they both needed to collect their thoughts. After a few moments, it was Jamie who broke the silence, with a pronouncement that said everything and nothing about their situation.

"This is all fucked," Jamie muttered.

As had always been the case, it was Trevor's reply that brought Jamie back into the moment.

"Yeah," agreed Trevor. "So, what are we going to do about it?"

oOoOoOoOo

Ambrose Rookwood should not have been surprised to learn that Pansy had been living out of a small backpack for the two weeks she had spent at his home. But then again, there were quite a few things about Pansy that had surprised him.

As soon as Flint had left, Rookwood had found himself knocking on her bedroom door. When she called him in, he found her already packed and ready to leave.

Pansy saw his eyes on her belongings, and smirked. "No one ever accused me of being slow, Mister Rookwood. I don't need an unspeakable to tell me when there's a nundu in the yard."

"I could accuse you of many things, Miss Parkinson," retorted Ambrose, grinning at her in spite of himself. "Being slow is not among them."

Pansy gave her host an exaggerated curtsey - which set him laughing, as she was wearing jeans at the time. She could not help but laugh along with him. After a moment, the pair calmed down, and she spoke again.

"Thank you, Rookwood, I needed that."

"We both did, I think," he replied.

"We did," she agreed.

The moment stretched between them, until Ambrose spoke again.

"Where are you going, then?" he asked.

The troubled look returned to her face. "Not many options left, I'm afraid."

Ambrose couldn't help but nod at that. Any death eater would take her to the Dark Lord, so that he could solidify her uncle's hold on House Parkinson and its seat in the Wizengamot. Even some of the darker neutral families might give her up if it meant protection from the death eaters. That left only one viable choice. Or two, rather.

"Potter or Longbottom?" he asked.

"Longbottom," Pansy replied. "I don't know where Potter lives, but I do know how to get to Longbottom Hall. Even if Neville isn't there, his Grandmother will be, and she will honor the agreement her house's heir negotiated under Parley."

"So you said," Ambrose replied. "I can't help but worry, though."

"You're sweet," Pansy teased, earning a slight blush from the older Slytherin. "The agreement was witnessed, he can't back out. And think about Neville Longbottom, does he strike you as the kind of person to break an agreement like that?"

Ambrose shook his head. "No, Neville is probably the least Slytherin of any of the lions. You're probably right."

Pansy scoffed. "Probably, he says."

Again, Ambrose found himself rolling his eyes at the witch. Then he reached over and picked up her bag. "At least do me the honor of escorting you to Longbottom Hall, my lady."

Pansy curtseyed again. "Of course, my lord." Neither could keep themselves from laughing after that.

oOoOoOoOo

Brigadier General Miles Warren listened intently to Colonel Ramsay's description of the battle at Bones Manor. He tried as hard as he could to focus on the details of the battle - the tactics used by the young Lord Potter, the close quarters defense the Colonel had employed, the effectiveness of the Colonel's sidearm versus attacking wizards - all of the details he would need to include in his own report to the Prime Minister's office.

And report he would. The few in the muggle government who knew about such things had done what they could to keep a close eye on the growing unrest among the magicals. The policy in place was strictly hands-off, however, as the muggles did not want to give the magicals any cause for concern.

But with open attacks, in force, against a top government official, the conflict seemed to be escalating. It was only a matter of time before it spilled over into the muggle population - and there were only so many ways to cover that up.

Warren had the Colonel repeat his account of the fight with Nagini.

"How long was that snake, Mark?" he asked.

Ramsay shrugged. "Ten feet, easily. Maybe more."

Warren whistled in appreciation. "Five rounds rapid, who would have thought that would work against a huge, magical snake."

Ramsay sipped his coffee before answering. "Honestly, I didn't have much of a chance to think about it until it was all over."

"No, I don't suppose you did," agreed Warren.

Before he could say more, the phone on his desk rang. Warren reached over and pressed the speaker button, seeing that it was his assistant calling. "Yes?"

"Um, the gentlemen are here for your next meeting, sir." It was clear that the young assistant was nervous for some reason.

Warren and Ramsay shared a look. Something was wrong, and both of them knew it. No one was supposed to be able to get anywhere near this office without the proper clearance, and no one with the proper clearance would show up unannounced.

Indeed, anyone important enough to drop in would be important enough for Warren to be the one visiting _their_ office, not the other way around. For Ramsay and Warren both, this was a red flag.

"I didn't have anything until this afternoon, if memory serves," Warren said, cautiously.

"My apologies, sir, but I've got them down in the book right here."

The reply did little to reassure either man. Warren stood up, and gave Ramsay a nod. The Colonel stood as well, and went to the other end of the room. Presumably, the junior officer would bring two chairs for the visitors, so that they could sit down with the Brigadier and have their meeting.

In reality, the movement put Ramsay and Warren on opposite ends of the room, and forced the visitors to divide their attention. If they were not a threat, then no harm done - but otherwise?

No one ever accused Miles Warren of being paranoid - because his instincts were correct far more often than not. They had been that way since before he could remember.

Once Ramsay was in position, Warren spoke again. "Send them in, Patrick."

There was no reply - another red flag - before the door to the office opened. Two army officers walked in, and immediately moved to stand in front of the Brigadier's desk.

Then the shorter of the two made his first mistake. "Mark Ramsay?"

"He works for me, yes," replied Warren, fighting hard to keep his tone neutral. Had they really not noticed the Colonel at the back of the room? "Something I can help you with, gentlemen?"

The taller officer frowned. "He was supposed to be here." He looked at Warren. "You'll have to summon him."

Warren's eyes widened at the man's gall. His uniform had the rank insignia of a Captain, which made the situation that much more ridiculous.

"Why do you need to speak to the Colonel?" Warren asked.

"It doesn't matter," said the shorter officer. "We've been here too long anyway." It was then that Warren noticed the stick in the man's hand. "Please stand still, this won't hurt a bit. _Obliv-_ aaah!"

Whatever spell the wizard was about to cast was interrupted by the chair Ramsay brought down across his back. The other wizard stood there, shocked at the surprise attack - which gave Warren all the time he needed to catch him in the side of the head with a paperweight. The second wizard fell with a shout, and Warren was over his desk and on the man in no time at all.

Ramsay struck the first wizard once more, rendering him unconscious, before examining his false uniform. Had he gotten a better look at it, he would have struck sooner - for it was obviously a replica. The awards were incorrectly placed, the insignia was in an older style - and no officer this young would have fought in the second world war, as his uniform suggested.

"Never again!"

The angry shout from the Brigadier drew Ramsay's attention. When he looked over, he saw Warren repeatedly bashing the downed wizard with a trophy - the closest weapon at hand, it seemed. The look of anger on the man's face surprised Ramsay, for the Brigadier was usually a tightly controlled sort of man. This was a side of him Ramsay had never seen, and it was unnerving.

With his attention on the Brigadier, Ramsay did not notice his own wizard stirring. When the man shouted, it was a surprise.

"Blue, blue, blue!"

With a pop, the two wizards disappeared. Warren stood up, looking around his office as if seeking another target.

"What was that?" he asked.

Ramsay stood as well. "It was a portkey. They're long gone."

Warren huffed at that. "Bastards. I should have known they'd show up, after last night."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow at that. "Really?"

Warren nodded. "Anytime something like this happens, where they think their secret gets out, they send those…. people out and wipe memories." He shook his head, angrily. "We go along with it because it keeps the secrets where they are supposed to be - out of the public eye. But every now and then, they arse it up."

Ramsay set the overturned chair back up, and resumed his seat. "Sounds like you've dealt with this before."

Taking his own seat, Warren nodded again. "I spent the better part of my teenage years caring for my mum, who could barely remember her name, all because some twit at the ministry decided that it was easier to wipe her memory than let her complain."

"Complain?" asked Ramsay.

"What would you do," Warren said quietly, "if your sister went off to Hogwarts to learn how to be a witch, and never came back? They never even gave us her body to bury." He shook his head sadly. "Mum was never the same after Myrtle died. She had barely started to mourn when the obliviators showed up."

"After some of the things Amelia has told me? Yes, yes I can believe that." Ramsay sighed. "I'm sorry, sir."

Warren nodded in acknowledgement, but said nothing. His eyes rested on a picture on his desk, one Ramsay could not see from his side of the desk.

After a moment, Ramsay spoke again. "So, I assume that we should probably report this to Number 10."

Warren looked across his desk at his friend and subordinate. "Are you kidding?"

oOoOoOoOo

Pansy Parkinson was not surprised to learn that Ambrose Rookwood had a small book in his study filled with portkey locations across the British Isles. Some were safehouses, some were friends, but a great many were old family homes.

The list had light and dark families alike - which is why Ambrose had known to look up the location of Longbottom Hall. Potter Manor itself was missing, as were several others, but Ambrose explained that they _had_ been there at one point. That they were missing now told him that those homes had gone under the _fidelius_ charm.

He did not need to know that the family seat on the House of Potter was Potter Manor. It was enough to know that the Potters had to have a family seat, and that it had been on the list at one point. It might have been a minor flaw in the charm, but not one that could be exploited to reveal the location.

Of course, as his father had said, knowing that there was a question to ask was a good first step to answering it.

Pansy was saddened to see Parkinson Lodge missing from the list. When Ambrose saw her expression, and where her eyes had fallen on the list, he confirmed her guess.

The Death Eaters had taken up residence in her old home. _Which is why I'm running,_ she thought bitterly, as Ambrose crafted the portkey.

When the pair arrived, it was at a location in sight of the main gate to the Longbottom Estate. Rookwood had not wanted to arrive right next to the gate, and risk triggering a trap of some sort - but nor did he want to approach from too far away. He was mindful that every minute outside wards was a minute that exposed Pansy to danger, and he was not willing to put her at any unnecessary risk.

Fortunately for them, the defensive wards began at the perimeter, and they were able to approach without incident. Ambrose was surprised when Pansy walked with her arm on his elbow. When he gave her a questioning glance, she responded only with one of her enigmatic smiles.

He had not realized, until that moment, how much he would miss having her around his house.

"Here we are," she said with a sigh, as they arrived at the gate.

"Here we are," Ambrose echoed. "Last chance to back out."

Pansy could hear the worry in his voice, and understood what he had not said - _Are you sure?_ She patted his arm in as reassuring a manner as she could, and smiled up at him.

"Neville wouldn't betray his house's honor. Not in a blood feud. Madam Longbottom would never let him hear the end of it." Pansy shook her head, her eyes still on his. "I'll be fine, Rookwood."

Ambrose smiled in spite of his nerves. "I bow to your wisdom, then, Parkinson."

Instead of a reply, he found himself being hugged. It surprised him, as Pansy - and most Slytherin girls, for that matter - were not big on hugging.

"Thank you," she whispered, before giving him a kiss on the cheek. As she stepped back, she smirked at how flustered the normally unflappable Ambrose Rookwood had gotten.

Before he could say anything, Pansy tapped her wand on the Longbottom crest worked into the metal of the gate. It was the only way she had to 'knock' on the wards, and it would identify her to Neville's grandmother, who probably held the wards.

It was barely three minutes before she saw two teenagers approaching from the main house. She sensed Ambrose relax when they came close enough to identify. The tension left her a moment later, when she got a good look.

The boy on the left was clearly Neville Longbottom - though he had clearly been neglecting his greenhouses, for he appeared to be paler than he had at the end of the school term. He was wearing muggle clothes, something that surprised Pansy. Since this was a result of a formal parley, she thought that he would at least wear robes.

Next to him was a Harry Potter who appeared to be more relaxed than Pansy had ever seen him. Harry had grown his hair longer, and had newer (and much nicer) glasses, but it was unmistakably the last Potter.

When they made it to the gate, Pansy began to speak, as the terms of a blood feud required.

"Heir Longbottom," she began. "In accordance with the old ways, I accept your offer of sanctuary on behalf of House Parkinson. I agree to do no harm to you or yours, and to set aside any conflict between our houses." There were other caveats and conditions she might have added, but the feud was not between the Longbottoms and anyone - they were just interceding as an allied house. Any oath of neutrality Harry might require would come later.

Longbottom and Potter shared a look. Then, to Pansy's relief, Longbottom stepped forward and opened the gate. "Heiress Parkinson, no harm will befall you here, as agreed." The typical response would have been to acknowledge the parlay itself, and say 'as _we_ agreed', but Pansy did not notice the omission.

"Pansy says you're a man of your word, Longbottom," Rookwood said, speaking for the first time. "I take her safety very seriously." He turned his eyes to Potter, and fought hard to keep his expression neutral. This boy did not look like a killer, and certainly didn't look like he had been in battle against the forces of the Dark Lord the night before. "Potter," Rookwood continued, "This changes nothing between us."

Ambrose expected some sort of attempt at justification from Potter, or at least a response of some kind. Even within the strict bounds of the sanctuary discussion, surely he would take the opportunity to say _something._

Instead, to Ambrose's shock, Potter merely nodded once. The infamously brash Gryffindor held his tongue.

Longbottom, for his part, smiled at him evenly. "We would not want to be accused of mistreating a guest, sir."

 _Sir?_ There was something off about Potter and Longbottom both, but Rookwood could not put a finger on what exactly it might be.

"I'll be fine," said Pansy. Rookwood saw in her eyes that she was not worried, and that caused him to relax somewhat. He nodded to acknowledge the comment, and stepped away from the gate, that act saying that he entrusted her to House Longbottom.

With that, Pansy turned and followed the lions up the hill. Once they were well away from the gate, the boys seemed to relax as well.

"He's a bit intense, isn't he?" remarked Potter.

Pansy looked up at him, and began to reply, but her remark caught in her throat when she got a good look at the boy walking on her right. The black-haired boy with green eyes - and no scar on his forehead.

"Potter," she said, urgency in her tone. "What happened to your scar?"

The boy shrugged, and pulled back his collar - revealing a long, jagged scar across his left shoulder. "It's here, on my collarbone, where it's always been."

"Since fucking when?" spat Pansy, her wand already in her hand. "What is this?"

"Miss Parkinson," replied Longbottom, shooting an exasperated look at his companion. "Allow me to introduce my idiot friend, here. May I present James Potter, Junior, of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter, the twin brother of Harry Potter."

Pansy turned her glare from Potter to Longbottom, her wand hand itching to curse both of these wizards… whoever the hell they were. "And you are?"

"I am Trevor Longbottom, Heir Secondary to the Ancient and Most Noble House of Longbottom. You may have met my twin brother, Neville, at Hogwarts." He gestured at the manor house atop the hill, looming overhead. "Welcome to Longbottom Hall. I'm sure our parents will love to meet you."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **Welcome back. As I've said on other updates, my apologies for the long gap between chapters. Suffice it to say, things have been as crazy for me as they likely have for you. But we're going to just ignore all that and keep moving things forward, yeah?**

 **I was surprised to learn that we only know Moaning Myrtle's last name from one of JK Rowling's tweets - but that's good enough for me, however. (At least it's not fanon consensus.) When one factors in a younger brother, the calendar works out nicely.**

 **Thank you to the reviewers who continue to enjoy this story, and the ones who have concerns. I've not been great at responding to reviews these past few months, owing to... well, everything, but rest assured that every word of every review is read by me. Again, thank you.**

 **Thank you especially to The Sinister Man, who recommended this story in an update of Harry Potter and the Prince of Slytherin. If you're not already reading that work, consider it. I make no secret about the fact that it was one of the stories that got me into the HP fandom, even to the point of taking inspiration for the opening of Keystone Council from the (brilliantly structured) cold open that kicks Prince of Slytherin off. So, to TSM and everyone on the discords who keep me writing - thank you.**

 **Finally, thanks again to Grimjaw for the sanity check on this chapter.**

 **Feedback, as always, is welcome. Stay safe out there.**


	22. The Flight

Ambrose Rookwood felt the attack on his wards just over an hour after returning from Longbottom Hall. He had hoped for more time, but knew that they would come for Pansy as soon as they learned that she had been in his home.

Barely a month ago, _they_ would have been _we_. The ones now attempting to breach his defenses were the same ones, the same death eaters, that he had almost joined. The same cause that his father had served for decades, and for which his father had ultimately died.

As far as they were concerned, he had something they wanted. So without thought for his family's service, or his own potential value as an ally, the death eaters were attacking. All to get full control of Pansy's family.

"What would you have done, father?" Ambrose muttered, even as he filled another trunk with books and journals from the study.

Augustus Rookwood had been a true believer in the Dark Lord's cause, and his journals made that plain. He almost revelled in the mayhem, the sheer destruction, that the death eaters caused during the first war. But absent from those journals , or at least the earliest ones, was the strategic outlook - the long-term thinking that he had learned at his father's knee, the sort of thinking that won wars rather than battles.

Perhaps his father had grown wiser as the war progressed? But if that were the case, what the hell was he doing in the Department of Mysteries? Why had he been there, skulking in the shadows, masked and robed, only to fall to Potter's knife?

Ambrose would have plenty of time to consider that, once he had made it to safety. For now, he was taking everything he could carry.

The last item, the family grimoire, was hidden behind a false panel in the study. His father had told him of it last summer, saying that he had to know "just in case." When Ambrose learned that the Dark Lord had risen, he understood what "just in case" meant.

Finding the panel, he touched the corners in a certain pattern, and the panel glowed briefly before sliding away. Inside was a small sack of galleons, a stack of muggle pounds, and a pair of muggle passports, one for him and one for his father.

At the back of the compartment, there was a small wooden box sitting on top of an ancient book. Carefully taking the box, Ambrose opened it and found vials of memories. Either his father or his grandfather had wanted some sort of insurance, it seemed - but against whom?

The box went into his trunk, along with the grimoire and most of the cash. The passport and the galleons, he kept. When he picked up the second passport, he paused, opening its cover.

Ambrose wondered when his father would have had the chance to get a muggle picture taken. There, staring up at him amidst the trappings of the muggle document, was his father's picture - his intense grey eyes, his bald pate, his very carefully neutral expression. Again, Ambrose spoke softly to himself, just as he felt the wards come under attack once more.

"What _would_ you have done, father?"

The wards would not fall anytime soon, but Ambrose finished his work with renewed urgency all the same. The second passport went in the trunk, which was quickly shrunk and stashed in a muggle backpack. It took only moments to look about the now mostly empty study, and see that nothing of value had been missed.

When the death eaters got in, _if_ they got in, they would know that he had fled. There would be no plausible excuse for emptying the study, if he was simply out when they arrived. But then he thought back to Flint's warning, and to the letter demanding his presence that he _hadn't_ received.

Whatever else happened, any chance of standing with the dark families and supporting the Dark Lord was well and truly gone. The bridge had been burned. Voldemort viewed him as an enemy, now.

Ambrose found that he wasn't nearly as upset about that as he might have been. The Rookwoods had been underestimated before, and yet here he stood.

Reaching down, he picked up a small paperweight from his father's desk. With a word, the portkey activated, and Ambrose Rookwood disappeared.

oOoOoOoOo

Even before he left the Headmaster's office, Severus Snape knew that someone had arrived in his home at Spinner's End. The wards told him that one wizard had used a portkey he had created, and that the intruder was sitting in his living room. The intruder was in good health, so far as the wards could detect, and did not bear the dark mark.

Snape did not give many students direct access to his home, but he had been known over the years to give out emergency portkeys to those students in his house who might have need. After all, who better among the staff to recognize the signs of abuse, but he?

He did not give portkeys to his fellow death eaters, for the simple reason that it was frequently the death eaters whom his students were fleeing. More than once, this year, he had had to speak to a Slytherin who worried about being forced to take the mark. No, if a death eater needed him, then they could summon him in the usual way - or else, the Dark Lord would summon him, as had happened that morning.

Given all of that, the list of wizards who would need to use one of those emergency portkeys, and who would do so before being injured in an attack, was a small one. With all that Snape had heard that morning, while he tended the Dark Lord's injuries, that list came down to just one name.

"Mister Rookwood," Snape drawled, as he stepped out of the floo. "I had hoped you would heed my warnings, but am once more disappointed."

Ambrose stood as the floo activated, and watched his head of house step out. He could not help but smirk at the Professor's ire, for there was no true heat behind it.

"Events overtook me, Professor, as they often seem to do these days," Ambrose replied.

"I would accept that from a Gryffindor, Mister Rookwood, but you of all people should know better." Snape continued. "What the _hell_ were you thinking?"

Rookwood took a step back, involuntarily. Snape's tone betrayed his frustration, just as his expression told of the minimal hours of rest he had likely gotten the night before. Which made sense, if there had been a massive battle as Flint had described.

"I was thinking, sir, that I was protecting a housemate from attack," Ambrose said, as calmly as he could. "Just as you protect your snakes, _sir_."

"Miss Parkinson was not your concern," Snape argued.

"The moment she crossed my wards, catatonic with fear and bleeding from torture, she became my concern." Ambrose felt the anger coming to his voice, but didn't care. Who was Snape to question him?

"Yes, of course she was," Snape replied with a sneer. "Do you put yourself in the path of the Dark Lord for every pretty girl you see, I wonder?"

"No, professor," Rookwood spat.

"It must be something, then, Mister Rookwood," Snape spoke, almost tauntingly. "Your father claimed that you would take the mark, just before his death. And before he was even cold in the ground, you knowingly betray the cause he fought for all his life?"

"If we have to torture teenagers and execute civilians to further our cause, _Professor_ , then what worth could our cause possibly have?" Ambrose shouted, angrily. "I believe as my father believed, as I think you believe - that change is good and right and necessary, now more than ever. But I will not accept that this is the way to go about it. Not after what I've seen these past weeks."

Snape glared at Rookwood for a full minute. Then, with a sigh, he nodded and put away his wand. Ambrose was shocked to realize that Snape had had his wand out the entire time, while they argued.

"Good," said Snape. "You're wiser than I was, at your age."

Ambrose felt himself relaxing, as the tension drained from the room. "I find that hard to believe, Professor."

Snape's expression was unreadable. "Nevertheless, it's the truth. Otherwise, I wouldn't have this." His nod toward his left forearm was all he needed to make his point. "Come, sit."

Snape took a seat in a comfortable looking chair, and motioned for Ambrose to sit on the nearby couch. Then he summoned a house elf to bring tea. When the elf arrived, Ambrose noticed that it was one of the Hogwarts elves.

The pair sipped their tea in silence, each gathering their thoughts. Presently, Snape spoke first.

"You chose the worst possible day to be discovered, Mister Rookwood," Snape began. "The Dark Lord fought against Potter last night, and escaped after being poisoned."

"Potter never struck me as one to use poison," remarked Ambrose.

"Nor would he be able to brew anything truly useful for that purpose," agreed Snape. "But in this case, he made up for his academic deficiencies by utilizing basilisk venom on a thrown blade."

Ambrose blinked in surprise. "And the Dark Lord survived?"

A nod. "He did, somehow. But the experience left him quite… irritable, shall we say?"

"I see," said Ambrose. "So when he spoke to Flint and learned that Pansy was at my home…" his voice trailed off.

"Yes," confirmed Snape. "He was enraged already, and that did not help. I doubt your family home will survive the day, Mister Rookwood."

Ambrose nodded at that. "I had expected as much," he said, quietly.

"Indeed," said Snape. "I notice you did not bring Miss Parkinson along? She is safe, I trust?"

Ambrose nodded again. "Under a parley, Neville Longbottom offered her sanctuary. I dropped her off two hours ago."

"Good. I have no doubt that Mister Longbottom will show her the appropriate hospitality, as will Mister Potter." Snape's voice did not carry its usual disdain for all things Gryffindor - or, rather, not as much of it as was typical. It caught Rookwood's attention immediately.

"Potter killed my father, Professor," Rookwood said, coldly.

Snape could hear the anger in Rookwood's tone, but kept his silence. It was obvious that the boy had not had a chance to talk about his father's death. Even their last (and only) conversation at the end of term had been perfunctory at best, with Snape telling Rookwood to not ask questions and stay out of trouble.

Look how well that turned out.

"I want to hate him. Part of me wants to gut the little shit, and watch him bleed out on the stone floor of the great hall." Rookwood paused, gathering his thoughts. "But it feels off, somehow," he continued, without heat. "The whole ambush, the battle in the Department… I don't know, sir, it just doesn't feel like something Augustus Rookwood would plan."

"The operation was Lord Malfoy's, I think you know that by now," replied Snape.

"So I read," Ambrose agreed. "The DMLE report was clear on that, at least."

Snape's eyebrow raised. "How, exactly, did you obtain the DMLE report?"

Ambrose looked at Snape, as if to say _you know better than that_. "I am a Rookwood, Professor."

"So true," Snape acknowledged, doing his best not to roll his eyes. "What detail stood out to you, then, Mister Rookwood?"

Rookwood frowned, trying to articulate what his gut had told him about his father's death. "I learned to fight with a blade from my father, you know that. Several of the marked learned from him as well."

Snape nodded once more. "I was one of his students. He was a strict teacher."

"He was a master," agreed Rookwood, pride in his voice. "And I don't say that because I was his son. He really was that good. After he was kicked out of the Department, he made ends meet by tutoring in hand to hand and knife combat."

"And yet…" Snape prompted.

Ambrose sighed. "And yet, he died when he charged around a corner, blind, when he knew that Potter was coming that way. He didn't lay an ambush, he didn't let them pass and strike from the rear, he didn't get out in front of them and cut them off. He just stumbled forward and took a knife to the throat." He looked up at the Professor, who had a thoughtful look on his face. "How much of that sounds like Augustus Rookwood to you?"

oOoOoOoOo

Pansy found herself going through the motions when she met the Longbottoms and Potters. She had been trained all her life in the ways of Pureblood customs, and could recite the empty pleasantries of high society without thought. It was an excellent way to hide one's emotions, her mother had said - better, in some ways, than occlumency.

The most important rule she followed was the simplest - never let them know what you're thinking. It was why she fit so well with Umbridge's goon squad, and how she was able to hover in the background behind Malfoy and his thugs. It was a survival tactic, useful because it worked. In a crowd of future death eaters, she was just one of many. No one bothered to ask her opinion, after all - why would they?

So while she greeted the long lost Potters and miraculously healed Longbottoms, she was the picture of poise and gratitude. She thanked them for shelter, using phrases old before Merlin's time. She welcomed the parents back into Wizarding Britain, and hoped that they were well. She complimented their sons for their upstanding conduct during the recent upheavals. She very deliberately did _not_ remark on the absence of Harry and Neville.

Inside, she fought to keep herself calm.

The whole point of going to Neville had been to avoid the Headmaster's supporters. During that parley, so long ago, Potter had made it clear that he was his own side in the war, and that he did not fight for Albus Dumbledore. His actions at the Ministry proved that more than any oath could have.

Her father had been killed for his politics, and she was now hunted for her family's vote in the Wizengamot. Seeking shelter with one of the most politically connected wizards in the last century was inviting trouble. And yet, here she was.

After a quiet lunch, during which she managed to avoid questions about anything of substance, Pansy was escorted to a guest bedroom. James Potter seemed about to object, before Alice Longbottom shut him down with a glance. It was her home, after all.

The elf who escorted her was kind, but would answer no questions - which did little to ease Pansy's worry.

When she was alone, she heard the click of a lock. She fell to her knees, fighting to slow her racing heartbeat, as panic overtook her.

She had exchanged one prison for another.

oOoOoOoOo

Professor Snape went to prepare tea, giving Rookwood a few minutes with his thoughts. After they both had cups in hand, the silence continued to stretch out.

"I find myself surprised that Mister Longbottom was up before noon," Snape remarked, choosing a new topic. "After all, he had quite a late night last night."

Rookwood's eyes narrowed. "He was at Bones Manor as well?"

Snape shook his head. "Only Potter was there during the battle. Several others showed up afterwards, Longbottom among them."

Rookwood shrugged. "He and Potter both seemed quite well rested when we met them at the edge of the wards."

Snape's eyes snapped to Rookwood, who found himself unnerved by the Professor's gaze.

"The wards at Potter Manor would not have allowed such a close approach," Snape said, evenly.

Rookwood shook his head. "I don't know where Potter Manor is. Pansy's agreement was with Neville Longbottom, not Potter. So we went to his home. Longbottom Hall." Off Snape's look, Rookwood sat forward. "Why?"

"Potter, you dunderhead," muttered Snape.

"Professor, what happened?" demanded Rookwood.

Snape sighed, and set his tea down. "Harry Potter, as you know, has declared a blood feud on the Dark Lord, and all who bear his mark. What you likely don't know is that he is not the last Potter."

"Not the last… Professor, what the hell?"

"Listen!" Snapped the Professor. "Potter's parents lived. They survived the attack, in 1981. They made it out of that cottage, and went into hiding. Them…. and one of their sons. Potter's twin, James Potter Junior."

"How am I just now learning this?" demanded Rookwood.

Snape shook his head. "Potter figured that they would announce their glorious return as soon as they could. But they have done nothing in public, not yet. Right now it's basically an open secret among the Light families."

Rookwood thought back to the boy he had seen that morning. The long-haired Potter boy, dressed in nice clothes and wandering the grounds of Longbottom Hall without care. Certainly, not a boy who had fought the Dark Lord hours before.

"Merlin," he whispered. "Potter has a twin."

"Yes," Snape confirmed. "And so does Longbottom. Trevor Longbottom, whose death was faked, apparently."

Rookwood looked up at his Professor. "The Longbottom parents?"

Snape nodded. "In hiding as well, with the Potters."

The pieces fell together in Rookwood's mind, and he swore. "So instead of avoiding the Order, I handed her over to it."

"I'm not going to bother asking how you know of the Order," replied Snape. "But yes, Mister Rookwood, that is the situation."

oOoOoOoOo

It was midafternoon when Pansy heard the door to her suite open. She was sitting next to the window, looking out on the grounds of Longbottom Hall, and did not bother turning to greet her guest. As a result, she was surprised when the speaker turned out to be Albus Dumbledore.

"I am sorry for your loss, Miss Parkinson," the Headmaster said in those gentle, grandfatherly tones he was known for.

Turning, she saw the Headmaster standing in the doorway. She said nothing, but nodded in acknowledgement of the man's words.

With a soft smile, Dumbledore conjured a chair and seated himself in the center of the room. There was a chair near the window, facing Pansy, but he clearly didn't want to sit too close to her. That told her that he expected her to get upset by his questions, and she felt herself tense.

It would not be long before she knew how right she was.

"You were wise to come to the Longbottoms, My dear," the Headmaster continued.

"Neville and I spoke before the end of term, Professor," she replied, keeping her voice as calm as possible. "He offered me a safe place to hide, should the need arise."

Dumbledore nodded at that. "Mister Longbottom is a fine wizard, and a good man. It was a lucky thing he made that offer, I think."

"Yes," she agreed. "I have not seen Neville since I arrived, do you know if he is available to speak with me?"

Dumbledore sighed very softly. "I'm afraid Mister Longbottom did not take his parents' return to health very well, Miss Parkinson. He is not currently at home."

Pansy had never spent much time around the Headmaster, and never in close proximity. She had had no reason to, being both a Slytherin and one intent on going unnoticed. But now that she sat in the same room as the man, she was starting to notice his mannerisms. The slight tilt of his head, the theatrical sigh before giving bad news, the gentle good-natured chuckle.

 _The man could've done well in Slytherin,_ she realized. Everything about him screamed manipulation, when you really looked closely.

"That is unfortunate," Pansy said, with a sigh of her own. "I should very much like to thank him."

"Ah, well, my dear, perhaps there is a way you can show your gratitude," the Headmaster said.

"Oh?" Pansy replied. She kept her voice as closed to 'teenaged girl' as she could, guessing that that was what she was to the Headmaster. After all, he had called her 'Miss', rather than 'Heiress', which told her that he was minimizing her rightful place in society, as one might a younger child. Or was he keeping her mind off her inheritance?

"Indeed," he replied. "I understand that your uncle has claimed to be Regent and Proxy for House Parkinson in the Wizengamot."

"So I was told," she said, hesitatingly. He had said as much to her as he cut into her arm. "I don't know what I can do about that if I'm in hiding."

"I am told that your uncle went to Minister Fudge, and got a dispensation to take over the Regency without a certification from the goblins, and without waiting for the reading of Lord Parkinson's will." Dumbledore said, a note of sadness in his voice.

 _The man's good,_ thought Pansy. She couldn't tell if the emotion was real or false.

Dumbledore continued. "If you were to assign a proxy on your own, then that should overrule the Minister's decision, and your House's seat would be secured."

 _There it is._

"I see," she said, quietly. "Unfortunately, many of the adults I… that I trusted... are death eaters, sir." She held up her bandaged left arm. "You can understand why I might be hesitant to assign the Parkinson vote to them."

Dumbledore smiled at her. "Quite wise, my dear. I would give five points to Slytherin if it were not the holidays." He leaned forward in his seat, gazing at her over his spectacles. "If you wish, I would be honored to take up the task."

Pansy smiled back at the Headmaster. "While that is a gracious offer, Professor, I doubt we agree on many of the issues before the Wizengamot. Would you be able to vote against your own positions, if I asked you to do so?"

The Headmaster chuckled again, in the way a grandfather showed amusement at a child who said a clever thing. "I suspect, my dear, that you would have no cause to object to the way I would exercise your vote."

 _Of course not,_ she realized. _You probably wouldn't tell me half of what you did with it._

"And if my uncle objects?" Pansy asked, in as small a voice as she could muster.

Dumbledore bought it. "You have nothing to fear, Miss Parkinson. You are safe here."

Pansy nodded, and clasped her hands together in her lap. She was surprised to find that they actually _were_ shaking. "I'll have to think about it, Headmaster." She looked up, meeting his eyes. "Either way, thank you for your gracious offer."

Dumbledore nodded, and stood with a sigh. It was not clear if he sighed because of his age, or to show disappointment. But that smile remained on his face, and he inclined his head to her in a slight bow.

"I will take my leave, then, Miss Parkinson. Please do consider your situation. I expect there to be an emergency session on Thursday, and it would not do to leave you or your family's vote in the hands of your uncle." With that, Dumbledore turned and left the room.

The tension drained from Pansy when she heard the lock click on the door once again.

The Headmaster had asked for her vote, but left her locked in a room. His parting words were a clear but subtle threat - let the Headmaster vote your seat, or take your chances with the man who killed your father and tortured you. That told her everything she needed to know about the so-called "Leader of the Light." Whatever happened, she knew one thing.

She needed to get out of here.

oOoOoOoOo

Susan Bones had been worried when Harry had come down to lunch. Neville had told her not to worry about it - that this was something he sometimes did after a big fight, and that she should just let him relax.

That comment did more to calm her than anything else. "He's flying, then," she said.

"Yup," replied a grinning Neville. "As soon as he learned that the manor had a Quidditch pitch, he knew he was home."

After they ate, Susan went out on the back patio to catch a glimpse of Harry in flight. She had always had one eye on him during the school matches, even when the lions played against Hufflepuff. One of the first things she learned about Harry Potter, long before properly meeting him, was that he loved to be in the air. It was part of why he was a great seeker - it meant that he was always moving through the air, no matter what.

If he had one of the other positions on the team, and had to actually focus on one task, or had to limit himself to only one area as part of a formation? Susan had no doubt he'd walk away from the game. As seeker, he had as much freedom as he could want, so long as he chased that little golden target whenever it appeared.

When Susan sat down, she saw Harry flying toward the manor. At first glance, it looked like he was wearing Quidditch robes, but as he grew closer she saw that his outfit was different. It seemed like a combination of his battle robes, with that basilisk-skin longcoat, and chaser's pads. His gloves were still fitted for the seeker position, however, with their fingerless design allowing the player's skin to touch the snitch and trigger the end of the game.

She noticed the wand in his hand, and realized why he was wearing seeker gloves. He didn't want anything interfering with his casting, and keeping his skin in contact with the wand was the best way to ensure that.

It was then that he saw her, and grinned. Instead of waving, he did a quick barrel roll, earning a laugh from the Hufflepuff. Then he stuck his wand straight into the air and cast a spell.

She could not hear the incantation from where she sat, and it was hard to see the spell's effects in the bright July sunshine. What she did see was a series of projectiles flying from the wand, each one trailing smoke. They looked like fireworks, and acted like it as well - each one sped off in a different direction, before the lot of them exploded as one. Instead of brightly colored lights, the fireworks released more smoke and what looked like debris - something that no one would want to fly through.

 _He isn't practicing Quidditch,_ she realized. _He's still training._

Her thoughts were confirmed when he spun about and aimed his wand at the growing cloud of smoke. As if imagining an opponent, he sent three stunners in that direction, followed by one of his green stunners that looked like the killing curse.

Susan's eyes were drawn toward the woods, where some sort of creature was charging toward the open field behind the manor. The spells had not made a lot of noise, apart from the exploding fireworks, but they still caught the attention of… something. From this distance, Susan could only tell that the creature looked like a horse, had dark grey skin, and wings.

 _Wings?_

The creature did not break its stride as it took to the air, great leathery wings stretching out and catching the wind. Harry flew low over the field, passing by the creature, laughing as he went. With a shrill cry, the creature gave chase, and the two began flying across the grounds, as if in formation.

At one point, a laughing Harry looped back and reversed himself, so that he was flying upside down. He passed over the creature, which cried out at him in annoyance before sweeping to its left, turning to follow. Harry flipped back upright, before bringing himself toward the manor and the ground.

Susan was on her feet before he had touched down. She couldn't help but grin at him, for she could see how much he had enjoyed the flight.

"What was that?" She asked.

He just laughed once again. "Practice!" he replied.

Susan huffed, even as she hugged him. "No, you prat, what was _that?_ " Turning him, she pointed at the creature as it landed nearby.

"Oh," he said, nodding. "I suppose that would make sense, now." He looked back at her, and kissed her forehead. "That, Susan, is a thestral."

Her eyes grew wide, and she looked at the creature, getting a better look now that it was close by. She wanted to ask him how she could see, but then she remembered the night before. The death eaters falling to the floor, writhing in pain. The intruder whose head exploded with a crack of gunfire.

"Oh," she whispered. She felt Harry hold her tighter.

"Yeah," he agreed. After a moment, he whispered. "What do you think?"

Susan smiled, tightening her hold on him. "It's beautiful."

The couple stood there for a while, watching the thestral graze. When it loped back into the woods, Harry looked down and found Susan looking up at him. With a smile, he leaned in and gave her a soft kiss.

"Thank you," he said.

She replied by kissing him back.

It was some time before they went back to the manor. Both Harry and Susan made a point of ignoring Neville's chuckles as they passed him by.

oOoOoOoOo

Pansy was not pleased to be served dinner in her room. Clearly, the Headmaster wanted her to carefully consider his words, and so she was to be kept confined.

 _So much for the hospitality of House Longbottom_ , she thought bitterly.

The sight of Trevor Longbottom did surprise her, however. She had expected an elf, to show that she was being denied contact with anyone while still being treated as a guest. Having the lost Longbottom twin serve the meal was an unexpected touch.

"I trust you are well, Heiress Parkinson?" Trevor asked, as he set the tray on her table.

"I would be much better if I were allowed to leave this room, Mister Longbottom," she replied, coldly.

Trevor had the grace to at least look uncomfortable at the clear accusation.

"My parents did not want you wandering, I'm afraid. These are dangerous times, as you know." Trevor did not meet her eyes as he set out her dinner service.

"If there is danger here, perhaps your family should consider relocating?"

Trevor shook his head. "You misunderstand, the danger was to you." He looked up at her, finally meeting her eyes. "Some of my family's allies consider your family to be allied with the Dark Lord, and your uncle's actions do little to prove otherwise."

Pansy almost snarled at him. "My father was neutral for two decades, Trevor. Ever since he took the seat, he never supported one side or the other. And Dumbledore fucking knows it."

Trevor took a step back at her angry response. "But…" he began, but she cut him off again.

"But, nothing, Longbottom." She kept her seat, looking every bit the pureblooded heiress, but her voice was angry and raw, and clearly not what the boy expected. Pansy pressed the attack. "I came here under parley, hoping for safety, and your family has me imprisoned. If it's not safe here, let me leave, but quit acting like you're in the right here."

Trevor stood up straight, as if he were preparing to fight. And perhaps he was.

"The Longbottoms have always served the Light, Parkinson," he snapped.

"So you say," she replied. Then, she gave him a sneer worthy of the snake pit, before bringing her voice down to almost a whisper. "At least the Dark families kill their victims. Your side, on the other hand, lets them mourn for decades before showing back up." She sat back, letting her features radiate disgust. "Which is the more cruel, I wonder?"

The look on Trevor's face told her that she had said something right, for he immediately looked guilty. Again, she pressed on.

"At least Neville had the Regent Longbottom to guide him," Pansy continued. "Harry Potter had fucking nobody. They locked his godfather in Azkaban, with no trial, and his godmother fucked off with you to wherever you were."

"The Potters are Light as well," Trevor replied, not sure what else to say.

"So it would seem," Pansy agreed, but her tone made it an indictment rather than a compliment. "And you wonder why so many families fight so hard to remain neutral?"

Try as he might, Trevor could come up with nothing in response. He stood there, glaring at the Parkinson Heiress, saying nothing at all.

After a minute of tense silence, Pansy sighed. "I would like to eat my meal now, Mister Longbottom."

Trevor looked at the table, and the two place settings there. "Of course," he said weakly.

She saw his eyes, and realized he had meant to join her. _Nope._

"Alone, Trevor. I can't deal with you right now."

Trevor looked as if he wanted to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, he walked to the door. Rather than leave, however, he simply leaned against it, arms folded.

Pansy stared at him. "Longbottom…" she began.

"I was told not to leave until you had finished eating. My father thought you might have questions for me." Trevor looked embarrassed as he spoke, but not embarrassed enough to actually leave her alone as she had asked.

Pansy scowled at him for a moment. "I suppose you're to tell me why I should support the Headmaster?"

The boy relaxed a bit, and nodded.

"Alright," Pansy said, a pleasant tone in her voice. "Convince me."

Had Trevor been a Slytherin, that tone would have been a warning. There was a saying in the snake pit, one that she followed almost religiously. 'Be careful around a grinning Slytherin.' She smiled at him, looking every bit the pureblood princess, and he thought she had calmed down, when the reality was exactly the opposite.

Trevor blinked at her, but then gathered himself. "The Headmaster is the leader of the Light, Parkinson," he began.

Pansy held up a hand. "Let's start there. What does that mean? The Light faction, as it is known, is made up of several influential families, and Dumbledore leads those families, but what does the Light stand for?"

There was only one answer to that, in Trevor's mind. "The Light is what stands in opposition to the Dark." His tone betrayed his feelings on the matter - it was a self-evident truth, obvious to anyone with eyes to see.

"I am aware," Pansy said. "But that is what the Light are against, what they oppose. What are you _for_ , exactly?" She tilted her head at the confused boy. "If House Parkinson were to support the Light, what policies would we be supporting, exactly? What laws would our vote help to pass?"

Trevor stared at her. These were important questions, of course, but not ones he had ever considered before. The Longbottoms supported the Light, end of story. He had never considered exactly _why_ they did so, or what it was they were supporting. Details like that were his father's concern, not his.

"Let me tell you what I see, Mister Longbottom," continued Pansy. "I see one faction that kidnapped me and told me to give them my vote. And then I see the opposing faction that kidnapped me and told me to give them my vote." She smiled broadly at him, keeping her tone light and conversational. "Why in the name of Merlin and Morgana would I ever, _ever_ , consent to aid either of them?"

"It's not that simple," Trevor began, but again she cut him off.

"Oh yes it is!" she snapped. "The most basic fucking thing a Head of House needs to do is protect their family. Period. Finite. My father did everything he could to keep me safe, and died for it. So now I have to protect myself." She shook her head sadly. "If you lot have taught me anything, it's that I can't trust you to do it. For fuck's sake, you can't even protect yourselves."

"What do you mean by that?" Trevor asked, angrily. He was not going to let her accuse the Longbottoms of such a thing. "We've always protected our own. My parents have never harmed me."

"I'm sure they haven't," she agreed. Then Pansy gave him her best Slytherin glare. "Perhaps we should ask Neville what he thinks, eh? Or Lord Potter?"

Trevor stared at her. He opened his mouth to argue the point, before closing it again. He simply couldn't counter her words. Could she be right? It scared him that he couldn't immediately say ' _No.'_

It was equally clear that Pansy knew it as well. When he looked back at her, he saw that she had turned away from him, and was beginning to eat her dinner. It was a clear dismissal.

Without a word, a shaken Trevor left her to her meal.

oOoOoOoOo

Ambrose Rookwood raised another concern as he helped Professor Snape clear the dishes from their dinner.

"I don't think I can even go back to Hogwarts, now," Rookwood said.

"It is too early to say," replied Snape. "Several students have been killed since the summer began, all while wearing the mark. It is possible that there will not be as many of the Dark Lord's supporters in our house as we expected."

"Maybe," said Rookwood. "But it only takes one."

"True," Snape agreed. "It will be your NEWT year, however. Not an easy time to leave."

"I'm less worried about my NEWTs than I am about getting cursed in the back, sir," Rookwood answered.

Snape frowned, considering that. "If Mister Potter has his way, there will be no one in the school who bears the mark, save myself."

"So I figured. He can't exactly pause a blood feud, can he?" Rookwood looked thoughtful. "But then again, I doubt that the Headmaster would permit anyone to just go about executing students, even if they are marked."

Snape couldn't disagree with that. "At the rate Potter is going, however, it may not matter."

Rookwood did not need any explanation. Crawley, Bones Manor, Hungary… and the Ministry. All had been disasters for the forces of the Dark Lord. Flint had not said as much, but it was clear to Rookwood that some of his fellow Slytherins had been among the victims of those engagements.

"He threw their lives away, just like that," Rookwood said quietly. "Just like he would've done to me. Just like he did to Da."

Snape's expression softened, ever so slightly. "Those who take the mark pledge their lives to the Dark Lord. He has never been shy about collecting on that pledge."

"No, he has not." Rookwood agreed. He sat heavily in one of the chairs in the small kitchen, and leaned his head against the wall. "What the hell do I do now?"

"I don't know," Snape answered. "Perhaps we should consider Miss Parkinson's situation first?"

Rookwood scoffed. "What do you want me to do, storm Longbottom Hall?"

Snape sneered at the thought. "Are you a Slytherin or not, Mister Rookwood?" he drawled.

"Neville Longbottom wouldn't give me the time of day, sir. And I refuse to contact Potter." Ambrose looked over to his Professor. "Who else would I ask for help? The people I trust are all in this room."

Snape heard the telltale sound of the floo, and nodded. "I may be able to help you with that, Mister Rookwood." Then he raised his voice. "In the kitchen!"

Ambrose Rookwood stood up when he realized that someone had arrived. His wand was already in his hand as he turned. In the doorway stood an odd-looking wizard. His clothes were that of a wealthy pureblood, perhaps a Lord, but his hairstyle was a very short muggle cut. The man had an easy way about him, but also showed signs of combat training. He seemed at once relaxed and on edge, something not many would notice.

It bothered Rookwood that he did not immediately recognize the man. When Snape spoke, he understood why.

"Ambrose Rookwood, may I introduce the Lord of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, Sirius Black."

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ **You know, it's funny.** **My other major story, Keystone Council, might cover months in a chapter - and that, while juggling five main characters (all versions of the same person). Here, I'm lucky to get through half a bloody day. That's what I get for skipping the trunk shopping and training montages and whatnot, I guess.**

 **It was Pansy's thread here that got the best reaction from my betas. I think it stems from letting her Slytherin flag fly without making her a hateful blood purist. I'll admit, _this_ Pansy has been fun to write, as has Ambrose Rookwood. **

**Thank you again for all of the comments and questions. I never figured on getting 5,000 follows on any story I wrote, and yet here we are. Again, thank you.**

 **Stay safe out there. Feedback, as always, is welcome.**


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